Four Seasons of You and Me
by Kako
Summary: Challengefic. 16 different one-shots for the HG/TR-LV pairing. From poetry to romance to parody, you get it all. Five: Bad things happen to those who get lost in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione runs into Tom. Apparently, good things can happen, too.
1. The Four Seasons of You and Me

Four Seasons of You and Me

Summary:_ Challengefic. 16 different one-shots for the HG/TR-LV pairing. From poetry to romance, songfic to parody, you get it all._

A/N: Yes, I realize I'm going to hurt myself with all these in-progress stories xD But that's the wonder about this one, I can use the one-shots as a stand-alone plotbunny dumping ground and update whenever I feel like it! …and, of course, for the joys of writing. Yeah.

This is also categorized under 'HG/TR' simply because the majority of the one-shots will be for this pairing.

Much thanks to my beta, **Sakura Takanouchi**.

Oh, and Disclaimer: Anything recognizable as JK Rowling's, I do not own.

* * *

_Challenge 1) Four Shakespearean-style sonnets. HG/TR. Title tie-in. Enjoy. _

_Genre: Poetry_

_Rating: K_

Notes: The 'seasons' titles have nothing to do with the actual times of the year. Instead, I mean the subtle changes in their relationship, paralleling the weather of the seasons. I chose these poems to start off the collection because it sets the tone for the rest of the piece; the "seasons" or chapters will show different perspectives and different degrees to the ever-changing relationship between Hermione Granger and Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort.

* * *

_The Four Seasons of You and Me_

_Winter_

_I hated him the moment our eyes met_

_So perfectly false, he did not fool me._

_Natural rivalry, our grim duet_

_My secrets from him, his open to me. _

_Antagonism isn't the best way_

_to stay hidden, I find. "How could you kill?_

_Take lives like they're nothing, your sick child's play,_

_it makes my skin crawl." Unanswered, 'the thrill.'  
_

_Oh, now I've done it. My cover is blown._

_'What makes you so different?' His eyes ask me._

_Now above all he won't leave me alone._

_'I'm normal, nothing. Stay away from me.'  
_

_I pass him a book in class, our hands touch_

_The time of contact too little, too much?_

_Spring_

_I know I've doomed myself, I'm in too deep_

_When I see him now I only think Tom_

_Not the killer who once haunted my sleep_

_Instead strangely his presence makes me calm._

_I let myself relax, did I just grin_

_at something he said? What is wrong with me!_

_I have to stay strong, I can't let him win._

_If I fall for him I'll never be free._

_Who am I fooling, it's already here,_

_I've failed at blocking the kiss from my mind._

_The shame, the guilt, the temptation, the fear._

_I must go back home, of this I'm consigned._

_I can't, there's no way, the chance is so small_

_'Equal chance of falling in love,' I recall._

_Summer_

_It could almost be like a fairy tale…_

_There once was a girl, Gryffindor Princess_

_Her knight Tom, both villain and prince prevail_

_Battling schoolwork and envy with success._

_Both blind to the world, a feat once unknown_

_As both traded hearts just as blindly shown_

_He saw the connection useless, alone_

_Both atop different, unmixable thrones._

_Time to awake from this fairytale dream_

_No magic mirror, glass slippers for her_

_His hands round her throat, she tries not to scream_

_He can't understand so his wrath she'll incur._

_Once upon a time these two were in love._

_Time, indeed! Ignored, yet floating above._

_Fall_

_I told him I loved him; I expected_

_No reply. Really, what did it matter?_

_My soul, body, mind, and heart infected_

_That once pristine magic mirror shattered._

_My date's set; Dumbledore's found my way home._

_What I once desired I find I dread_

_I can't leave him, I must. The shards of chrome_

_stick deeper as I grasp what lies ahead._

_No goodbyes, no last kisses, it's better_

_that way. No remembrances—he can hate_

_me when I'm gone. Not even a letter—_

_paper is light but like iron the weight._

_I won't block your spells, whichever you send_

_You won't know it but I'm yours till the end._

* * *

A/N: So, anyone like it? Hate it? I personally love writing sonnets; it's the only poetry I think I'm pretty good at, am I wrong? (Oh, no. I'm going to be responding to reviews in iambic pentameter, I just know it xD) And I apologize if these were difficult to read, the spacing kinda got messed up so there's no way to separate the quatrains/couplets.

I really do want this to be a challenge, so I'll take requests if anyone wants me to write anything in particular. Up next in the one-shot café, I'm serving up a Romeo & Juliet inspired romance, a dark songfic, and an adjective-less parody.

Reviews, please? Let me know what you liked and what direction you want me to take this!

Love, Kako


	2. My Juliet

Four Seasons of You and Me

A/N: Aren't I just that awesome? Two one-shots, right off the bat. I really don't think just a quartet of sonnets is enough to get the feeling for this piece, so I'm adding two at once. Dedication like that just deserves reviews, doesn't it? Thanks in advance to those of you who left reviews on Chapter One!

__

Challenge 2)

Prompt/Summary: _A Romeo & Juliet-style love. HG/LV_

Genre: Romance/Tragedy

Rating: T

Notes: Major AU, this is post-seventh year, with all Horcruxes destroyed in some manner. Use your imaginations xD

This was actually written way back before I first began "Just Let Me Wake Up Already," but was never added because I was never really satisfied with the quality. So, after many edits, it's finally up! Enjoy!

My beta **Sakura Takanouchi** somehow made this good. She's that awesome.

* * *

_My Juliet_

Two households, both alike in dignity

In fair London, where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean….

_Adapted from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"_

* * *

"Hey, Hermione, you've got mail!" Ron's voice bellowed down the darkened hallways of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

The bushy-haired woman popped her head out of the doorway, a confused look on her face. It was Wednesday, and she was hardly expecting a letter. "Is it from work?" she asked, accepting the creamy white envelope with her name neatly stamped across the front in black ink.

"I dunno, it looks fancy!" Ron said, handing her the envelope as he knocked on Ginny's door. "What has Fred and George sent you?" He yelled, holding up the package with the Wheeze's logo boldly emblazoned across the sides and top of the box.

"Mine!" the redhead yelled, swinging open the door and grabbing the box out of her brother's hands before he had a chance to respond. She then saw the envelope in Hermione's hands, and the thoughts of her own parcel were forgotten.

"Ooh, Hermione, what's that?" Ginny asked, tucking the box under one arm. Hermione had opened the envelope and was now reading the letter.

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

_You are cordially invited to the gala premiere of the new St. Mungo's Wing for Critical Maladies and Emergency Patients. _

_Date: Friday, August 9__th_

_Dress is formal, as it is a masquerade ball, please wear a mask._

_(Plus One)_

"Ooh, sweet!" Ginny cried, who had snatched the invitation out of Hermione's unsuspecting hands.

Yes, she had been invited to the masquerade ball. In addition to all of the donators, every one of St. Mungo's employees and Healers had been invited. Fortunately for Hermione, this included interns.

"Hey, I wonder if Harry got an invitation, he did donate something to the new wing," Ginny mused, hoping that she would get to go.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. "It's not like I'm going."

"What?" Both Ron and Ginny asked in unison. Ginny scoffed, pushing her brother aside. "It's not like she's taking _you_. Come on, Hermione, you've got to go. No excuses!"

Hermione was about to open her mouth to protest that she had no suitable dress robes, when Ginny sensed her friend's excuse and grabbed Hermione's arm to pull her into her own room. "You can borrow something of mine! It's in three days, so we don't really have time to get anything new."

Hermione sighed. Her fate had been decided for her.

"Hang on, 'Mione, I want to see if Harry got one too," Ginny asked, leaving Hermione standing in front of her open closet, gazing at all the robes and dresses in lively colors within. From the happy whoop that she heard from downstairs, she assumed that Harry had indeed received an invitation.

While Voldemort's forces were still active, they had been lying low all year, leaving Harry, Hermione, and Ron the opportunity to finish their seventh year of Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were all set to start Auror training in the fall, and Hermione was interning at St. Mungo's over the summer. Even with one of the highest N.E.W.T. scores in decades, she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to devote her life to yet. She knew that her parents were thrilled that she was considering becoming a Healer, but Hermione wanted to be sure she would be happy doing whatever occupation she chose.

Ginny staggered back in the room, clutching Harry's invitation like a trophy. "Hmm, _were_ you going to take Ron as a date?" she asked mischievously.

"Of course not!" Hermione said, scandalized. She and Ron were good friends, but nothing more. "I don't _need_ a date!"

"Well, it is a masquerade," Ginny conceded. "I'm sure you'll find someone. Especially if you wear _this_!" She gestured to one of the dresses in her closet. The two girls kept talking, planning their outfits for the ball.

* * *

In a manor on the outskirts of the city of London, one man sat alone in a room in a thick green velvet armchair, his chin resting on one fist in thought. The chair was adjacent to a roaring fireplace, the only source of light in the room as the heavy velvet drapes were pulled closed across the huge windows.

The man began to think about the situation at hand. The last year had changed him more than he would like to admit. The lack of mirrors in the room was proof of that. Lord Voldemort did not like being reminded of his humanity.

With each destruction of a Horcrux, his soul had slowly begun to piece itself back together again. Already, his once milky white skin, almost translucent in tone, had begun to gain some healthy color, and his black hair had recently begun to grow again with a vengeance. He ran one hand through it, relishing in the feeling. He'd never admit it, but it was the one thing that he missed through his serpentine transformation.

Something else Lord Voldemort didn't like to admit: He was bored.

Bored of the same routine Death Eater meetings, dinners and nights alone like this one, tortures…

_Back up_, he frowned. _I would never be bored of torture_…

He heard the door crack open and the sound of it deepened his frown. Did no one understand his orders that he was not to be disturbed?

"Who is it," he asked sharply, turning his head to see whoever was unfortunate enough to interrupt him. It was Lucius Malfoy. _Hmm…maybe a little torture will help relieve my boredom…_

"Lucius, what is it," Voldemort sneered, standing up from the armchair. He did not like repeating himself, but he supposed that this man before him could be allowed a little slack. Lucius was one of the few trusted members of his inner circle who were permitted to see him in this…disgraced state as he liked to put it in his thoughts. Long ago he had lost all usefulness for his humanity in the pursuit of immortality and power. But now, he was becoming restless.

"My Lord, I wanted to ask if I may be relieved from the attack on the Muggle city of Chester tomorrow night," he asked, hoping that his request would not lead to a few _Crucio_'s. "As you know, Narcissa and I were two of the chief benefactors of the new St. Mungo's wing, and we've been invited to its premiere. A masquerade ball," he added, almost as an afterthought. "We need to keep up appearances, don't we?" He asked, nervously acknowledging his master's fluctuating mood. At the moment, he looked calm, but Lucius knew that his calmness often always concealed a hidden rage.

"Yes, yes, you may go," Voldemort waved off his servant, moving to a side table where a house-elf had noiselessly placed a glass of wine and a small tray of finger sandwiches.

"Thank you, my Lord," Lucius said, bowing before quickly exiting the room. He knew not to press his good fortune.

Once again Voldemort settled into the chair, watching the dark red liquid slosh around the glass.

"A masquerade ball…"

* * *

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, scandalized. "This is too…too…"

"Hermione, if you had your way you'd be going in something as plain as a grain sack. You're a woman, its time you started acting like it!" Ginny argued, straightening the strap of her own dress.

"I suppose it's too late to get out of this," Hermione mumbled, looking at her reflection in the floor-length mirror in Ginny's room.

Ginny had given her a dark blue dress, flecked with silver shimmers across its silk skirt and a sheer material that covered the corset, giving the impression of multiple changing shades of blue with the light. It had halter-style straps that left her arms and shoulders exposed, and a neckline that she certainly wouldn't have chosen for the dress, but Ginny assured her she looked fantastic in it.

"Here, I've gotten us masks, too," Ginny said, handing Hermione a mask with silver curling wings that covered the top half of her face. The whole thing made her look kind of like a butterfly, but when she voiced this opinion it only made Ginny burst into laughter for several minutes.

"Hermione, just try to enjoy yourself! Who knows, maybe you'll meet somebody!" Ginny said, biting back more laughter. She was going in a dark green empire-waisted dress, and her mask had golden accents to match the gold jewelry she wore.

"Here, wear this," Ginny instructed, handing Hermione a set of crystal beaded bracelets in different shades of light blue to wear on her wrist, and a matching drop necklace with a single diamond solitaire in a teardrop shape.

"Ginny, are we going to the party _this_ year?" Harry jokingly called, knocking on the door. The two had resumed their relationship soon into Harry's seventh year, and it was obvious the two of them were in love. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched Harry embrace Ginny, telling her how beautiful she looked.

"Come on, Hermione!" Ginny called back, breaking Hermione out of her reverie. She paused in front of the mirror one last time, settling the mask over her eyes. She was still amazed that Ginny had managed to control her unruly hair, taming it into soft curls and putting it up so that the curls spiraled around her face and settled against her neck.

They were traveling to St. Mungo's by the Floo Network, and one by one they stepped into the fireplace, calling out "St. Mungo's premiere gala!"

Once they arrived, Hermione was happy to see that she did not look out of place. Most of the people were in more extravagant dresses than she, but because of the masks, she recognized no one. She joined the small line to get in, handing her invitation to a masked receptionist she vaguely thought sounded like one of her co-workers.

Sighing, Hermione looked around the grand ballroom. Couples whirled on the dance floor, and again the tiny spark of jealousy ignited in her stomach. She wished she had someone to dance with, someone to confide in and joke with about the stupidity of masked balls and uncomfortable dresses…well, they probably wouldn't sympathize there. Hermione headed off to the table laden with cookies and sweets, sure that some chocolate would make her feel better.

* * *

Lord Voldemort stood leaning against the wall, already regretting the impulsive decision to come here. He had no one to talk to, hated this style of music, and his damn mask itched like crazy. He raised one hand to scratch where the strap was cutting into his temple, noticing the group of young women standing nearby who were watching him with _anything_ but subtlety. When one winked at him, Voldemort had to resist the urge to curse them all.

He looked at the drink in his hand. It was almost empty. _I can't handle these stupid, brainless women with no more wine_, he thought, quickly heading back towards the refreshment station as one of the women began to make their way over to him.

He clutched the glass firmly in his hands, not noticing the woman who turned from the edge of the buffet with a full plate of assorted chocolate cookies and brownies. Cursing his lack of balance, he stumbled into the girl, the remains of his wine glass staining the front of her dress.

"Oh, how can this day get _any_ worse!" She grumbled, about to tell off the stranger who just collided with her.

"Allow me," Voldemort said, waving his wand, noiselessly casting a spell to erase any sign of the burgundy wine stain.

"Thank you," she conceded, finally looking into the eyes of her…savior, defender, her…

Once she looked into his eyes, Hermione forgot even what she was doing here.

"Are you alright?" He asked, amused by her dreamy look. "Yes, I'm fine," she said, blinking quickly as she allowed him to lead her off to the side of the buffet.

_Apparently_, he thought with a wry smile, _I'm not the only one who's been drinking to absolve my boredom_.

"Are those enough desserts for you?" He asked sarcastically, noticing the thick plate of sweets she carried.

"No, this is just round one," she said, picking up a lemon bar. "I came by myself, technically, so there isn't much more for me to do."

"So you work here?" He asked. Hermione nodded. "I'm an intern at the moment, but I'm still deciding whether or not to pursue being a Healer."

"Healing is a noble career," He conceded. "How about you?" Hermione asked.

Voldemort paused, thinking about what to say. He could barely tell her that he had to sneak into the party without an invitation. Lord Voldemort sneaks nowhere! _It's not like the wards were even that much of a challenge, anyway._

"I made a last minute donation," he said slowly. That _could_ be true. After all, he hadn't destroyed the place yet out of spite. That could be seen like a donation of sorts.

"Oh, ok," Hermione said, about to take a bite of the lemon bar.

While she ate, Voldemort watched his companion. He was amazed he noticed the plate of desserts before noticing the woman carrying the plate. She was beautiful, he could tell, but she seemed not to care about her beauty, unlike nearly every other girl in the room. The blue dress looked amazing on her, but off in a corner, no one else would be able to admire it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Voldemort saw the same woman from before making her way through the crowd towards him. Seeking his only evasion, he turned back to his new companion.

"Dance with me," he commanded, taking the plate from her and grabbing her gloved hand. "Here, take these," he said to the jilted woman, shoving the plate into her hands before joining the swirl of couples on the dance floor.

* * *

Shocked, Hermione let him lead her to the dance floor. The way he said the words felt more like a command than an offer, but she mentally berated herself for even _considering_ refusing his request. She had finally caught herself a prince, but her reluctance to start a new relationship often led to her ending it before it even began.

The dance was a light waltz, the smooth music coming from the string quintet in the front of the room. Hermione looked back into her companion's eyes, lost in the sea of blue that seemed to match her dress perfectly.

"You're a pretty good dancer," she admitted as he twirled her around, which was effortless for him because he was easily a foot and a half taller than her.

_I'm a good dancer_? Voldemort thought, amused. He hadn't needed the skills in years, not since he was last at Hogwarts.

Hermione felt him pull her closer to him as he took her hand in his and continued waltzing around the room. His light touch on the small of her back with his other hand reminded her that she still did not know the name of this charming stranger.

"What's your name?" She asked, meeting his gaze, half surprised that she hadn't tripped over either of their feet yet.

_Hmm, I can't exactly tell her that I am Lord Voldemort_, he thought, smirking at the thought. _I wonder how she would react if I told her…_

"Tom," he told her. _Maybe there is a use for this name after all_.

"That's a nice name," Hermione said, trying to think of all the Tom's she knew. It was a fairly common name, and she _knew_ he wasn't the barman from the Leaky Cauldron…

"Not going to tell me your name?" Voldemort asked, his hand moving to Hermione's chin, tilting her face up at him in a slow pause in the music.

"It's Hermione," she said.

_Hermione…why does that name sound so familiar_? Voldemort thought. He surely didn't _know_ any Hermione's, and he'd be sure to get to know any that were as beautiful as this one was.

_Damn those emotions!_

As pieces of his soul rejoined, he'd slowly began feeling more and more humanoid emotions, the most recent being a sense of companionship and a need for familiarity.

_Lord Voldemort needs no one!_

Mistaking his scowl for the recognition of her name, Hermione quickly asked, "Is something wrong?"

* * *

Her eyes were so deep and pleading. The dark brown color seemed to suck you into their depths. He would surely love to drown in such deep chocolate pools…

_Snap out of it_! He thought. "No, nothing's wrong. I just…have a lot of pressure at work lately, and this dance was supposed to help me forget about them."

_Yes, just blame everything on 'work,' _Voldemort scoffed internally. He sounded so weak; he shouldn't have to make excuses for anything!

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said, and it looked like she meant it. "Is your work being affected by the war, too?"

_More than you know_, he thought wryly. "Yes, sadly. Hopefully, it should be over shortly," he said, gritting his teeth. _I am mortal now, but so is he. How many Muggle villages will I have to destroy before he decides to show himself and fight me_?

The waltz was almost over, and Voldemort spun Hermione twice before the closing bars of the waltz sounded. She leaned against his shoulder, feeling slightly dizzy.

_Those two glasses of wine were definitely not the best idea_, she still had enough sense left to acknowledge that at least. _Especially not before I'd eaten anything_.

Voldemort held her against his chest, momentarily enjoying the feeling before remembering who he was, stepping back abruptly.

Stunned, Hermione looked up. "Tom, are you ok?" She asked, when a huge grandfather clock hanging on the wall struck eleven.

"What is _that_ for?" He asked. The clock was loud, but Hermione was too consumed in her drinking the last time it rang.

"At midnight, everyone takes off their masks," Hermione said sensibly.

_Hmm, so I get to see what this witch really looks like…but would any of them recognize me? I should probably leave before then_…

"Tom?" She asked, still unconvinced that he was alright.

"I'm…fine," he said, and then impulsively grabbed her hand. "Come with me," he said. This time, however, his voice was undemanding. He was simply asking her to go with him. Hermione didn't hesitate, but placed her gloved hand in his outstretched one. The fingers curled around her own before he pulled her off to the side and out of the main ballroom, down the hall that he had used to sneak—_Er, calmly enter_—in.

"Where are we going?" She asked, unable to prevent the curiosity from invading her voice.

"You'll see," he said, pausing at one set of frosted glass doors.

He turned to Hermione. "Close your eyes," he told her. She instantly glared at him, but she allowed him to stand behind her and rest his hands over her eyes lightly so as not to disturb her mask but so she couldn't see where she was going.

He magically opened the doors, and led Hermione into the garden.

* * *

"Alright, you can open them now," he told her, wondering how she was going to react to this. He still wasn't even sure why he brought her here in the first place.

From her startled gasp, Voldemort was sure that she liked the surprise.

The small garden was set off to the side, joining the terminal and children's wards. It was small but very intimate, with a few benches and a fountain in the middle, surrounded by flowers with rose bushes lining the walls. What impressed Hermione most, Voldemort guessed, was the stunning view of Muggle London the terraced garden offered. The sky still held traces of amber light from the recently-set sun, which only lit up the small garden more.

Also, Voldemort noted, the small rays of light caught the silver glitter on Hermione's mask, lighting up the bottom half of her face.

Minutes later, they were seated on one of the benches, engaged in a heated debate about the usage of certain Arithmancy charts.

"But Tom, the Agrippan Method is highly unorthodox!" Hermione cried. Throughout the entire debate, she had been vehemently in favor of Wenlock's chart. "You know the Agrippan one is illegal! It was banned by the Ministry in 1847!"

_How on Earth did we even get on this subject_? Voldemort thought, vexed. "Have you ever used the Agrippan method?"

She paused to think. "Well, no. Of course not! It's banned!"

_Yes, yes, I know that_! Merlin, this woman could be annoying. True, she was able to debate with him on any subject, but she was so staunchly opposed to anything with even an inkling of Dark references.

"It was only banned because the Ministry at that time couldn't understand how it could be used to divine all possible consequences of one particular action," Voldemort said.

"So it's iniquitous!" She said.

"It's _practical _and _informative_," Voldemort argued.

"You're not going to change my opinion, you know," Hermione said haughtily, crossing her arms.

"Of course not. You're too stubborn," Voldemort said. _Why haven't I hexed this woman yet_?

"I. am. not. stubborn!" she cried.

"Just proved my point," Voldemort said, a smile playing across his lips.

Hermione sat, fuming. Sure, this man was one of the most intelligent people she'd met in a long time, and he sure was attractive, from what she could see. And his _eyes_, they seemed to be able to look straight through her and into her very soul.

But he was _arrogant_ as hell. His opinion was always the last one, although Hermione had to admit he had a few good ideas, and his arguments could counteract several Ministry orders that had banned or restricted arbitrary subjects.

Voldemort watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for her to make the next move. She had no problem talking back to him, which he actually found refreshing. With this mask over his eyes, he became a completely different person.

_Merlin, she sure is cute when she's angry_, he thought, then immediately retracted that statement. _Cute? Voldemort, you're losing your touch. You can't __**like**__ this girl_?

_Deny it all you want, you like her_, his inner voice told him. For all he knew, she wasn't a pureblood, and she was wearing blue, so he assumed she was a Ravenclaw.

"What house were you in at Hogwarts?" He asked, voicing his inner thoughts at a lull in the conversation. "Gryffindor," she replied proudly.

_But of course_, he thought ironically. At her questioning glance, he responded, "Slytherin."

At that, she started to laugh. "What's so funny?" He asked, irked that she would dare to laugh at his house.

"Well, it's just that most of the Slytherins I know are so different from you," she said. "They're all pompous, lying, stupid, rude, _evil_ pricks who don't even know the difference between a flobberworm and fluxweed, and—"

Voldemort just let her rant. It was entertaining to watch her get angry. At his amused grin, Hermione stopped berating Slytherin, instead giving him a suspicious glance. "What?"

He started to laugh. For the night, he was another person, he might as well let go of himself and just enjoy it. This woman had the ability to make him laugh like this and feel like blowing up a building all in the space of five minutes.

"Are you laughing at me?" She asked, pretending to glare at him, which only made him laugh harder.

"Fine, I'm heading back," Hermione said, jumping off the bench and trying her best to make a dramatic exit. She threw open the doors, storming back into the building.

"Hermione, wait!" He called, realizing that she had stopped joking and was seriously mad at him.

She was in the hallway, waiting the customary ten seconds for a man to chase after a woman after he does something stupid. _He's certainly qualified for that_.

"Hermione, wait!" She heard him re-enter the hallway, but she was already walking back to the ballroom. She could even hear the music faintly again.

_I can't believe I'm chasing after a girl_, Voldemort thought. _But is she worth it? Only one way to know_.

"Tom, I—" Hermione began to say, but Voldemort reached her first, startling her by closing the distance between them and clutching the back of her head with one hand, crashing his lips on top of hers in a passionate kiss.

At first, Hermione was too shocked to respond. When Voldemort pulled back, he was unsure of what Hermione's reaction would be.

"I…I..." He said, turning away from her. _I am Lord Voldemort, I apologize to no one!_

Hermione's feelings were only further complicated by the strange feeling in her stomach. It was obvious this guy liked her, but how did she feel? Only one way to find out.

_I can't believe I'm doing this_, she thought, before lightly touching his arm. He turned, half expecting to get slapped, when Hermione returned his kiss lightly.

It didn't take long for him to deepen the kiss, one hand grabbing Hermione's shoulder to push her against the wall, the other on her waist. Hermione had entangled one hand in his thick black hair, and the other was now pinned to her side as Voldemort began to kiss her neck.

"These damn masks are in the way," he growled, making Hermione laugh. She wanted to see what her prince looked like, but she enjoyed teasing him. "Another five minutes," she joked playfully, laughing.

"Well then, I'll make them the five longest minutes of your life," he hissed softly in her ear.

A tiny fragment of Voldemort's mind was worried about revealing himself to this girl. He would have to leave soon anyways, being seen by one woman was one thing, but walking back through the ballroom like that would be like signing his own death warrant. Although not many knew about his recent transformation, all it would take would be one of them.

* * *

The giant grandfather clock chimed midnight, and the deep sound reverberated all through the hallway. Hermione could hear the cheering of the crowd, as someone made a speech on the stage about the opening of the new St. Mungo's wing.

Hermione raised her hands to her date's mask, slipping it over his head. He grinned back at her arrogantly, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know it. She studied his face closer, brushing a thumb over one cheek.

_He looks so familiar, but I can't seem to place it_, she thought.

"Now your turn," he said, lifting her mask away from her face, careful not to snag her hair. She looked back into his eyes, and saw them narrow and knew that he found her familiar as well.

"Have we…met?" Hermione asked, unsure what else to say.

Instantly, Voldemort knew who she was. Swearing, he turned away, leaning with one hand against the wall. _I can't believe I didn't see it earlier. _His trademark smirk again graced his features as he started to laugh again, but this time it was a colder, darker laugh. "You honestly don't know who I am?"

She shook her head, confused. "I know who you are. You're Hermione Granger," He said, still grinning. Oh, this was all too convenient. One of Harry Potter's best friends, alone in an empty hallway.

She looked again, and saw the red glint hidden in his eyes.

"Oh my God," she said, backing up against the wall, fear in her eyes. She didn't know how it was possible, but somehow, she knew that this man was none other than Lord Voldemort. He didn't have the snakelike features she had thought he had; and right now wondering _how_ he regained some semblance of his youth ranked below '_staying alive_' on her list of priorities for the evening. Although he looked nothing like she'd been taught he did, she could tell it was him—she saw it in his eyes. Cold, empty, and frighteningly composed.

"You're too kind," He laughed; the sound chilled her to her bones. "Most just call me, '_my Lord_.'"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to shove down the conflicting feelings of revulsion and fear. She thought she had caught a _prince_; this was the bloody Dark Lord!

_Why can I never get anything right?_ She thought, half appreciating the irony of the night even as he laughed again.

"My dear, your thoughts are too amusing," Voldemort said, his wand already in his hand. Hermione froze instantly upon seeing it, and then reached for her own, the beaded purse flying out of her hands and down the hallway past her.

"You won't be needing that," he smirked. "And, if by chance you _do_ recover it, what you are suggesting is entirely physically impossible." Now that he was in tune with her thoughts, sifting the fear and worry out of the way was easy to get to the drive inside. He wanted to bring it out, he liked seeing her fire. It made death taste so much sweeter.

"You…_monster_," she spat. _I can't _believe _I—_

"Yes, Hermione dearest?" He asked, taking his time approaching her. "You can't believe you _what_? _Allowed_ yourself to enjoy our little encounter before the masks came off?"

She hated the way her name sounded when he said it. She half-wished he'd call her by _anything_ else, even '_Mudblood_' would be preferable—at least she would be able to think about him clearly with hate instead of remembering when she had thought of them as _anything_ alike. The masquerade was just that—a deception, _some_ way to lure her away from the safety of the Order and into the open. Once the masks came off, she could match a name to the body, and she found to her horror that she had actually been interested in this stranger who turned out to be the _Dark Lord_.

And, she found it equally disturbing that, in the midst of their discussions and dancing, that she had thought he was just as interested in her.

"Oh, no, my dear, you are quite wrong," Voldemort's voice jerked Hermione out of her thoughts, reminding herself that they were practically an open book to him. She decided to concentrate on a very angry message involving a respect for another's personal privacy, but it only caused him to chuckle lightly.

Hermione took another step backwards; her back and legs hit the wall, and she nervously glanced around her. No one in sight; she could barely even still hear the music coming from the ballroom.

"Our meeting was just a lucky coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione scowled, searching the recesses of her soul for some of that renowned Gryffindor courage. He was _toying_ with her, he had no _right_ to stretch her fears and dangle her life before her very eyes. If he was going to do something, just _do it_ and get it over with!

Hermione voiced this opinion, and Voldemort smirked again, raising his wandless hand to brush against her cheek in a false caress.

"My dear, your life," he paused, "or removal of it is in your own hands. Young Mr. Potter is also a guest at this masquerade, is he not? Don't try to hide it from me, your terrible attempts at Occlumency are useless."

He continued, "I wish you to bring him here, to me." In his smirk she could see his teeth gleaming in the dark. She shuddered, wanting to move away but finding no where to go.

"I would _never_ help you." She spat out the words, the very suggestion like poison in her mind, seeping through as she sought to valiantly once again throw her life in-between an enemy and Harry Potter. She trembled again, trying not to show how afraid she was of dying. She hadn't lived long enough; there was still so much more!

His eyes narrowed; his smirk had folded into a thin line. "Silencio."

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized what he was going to do. Curling her fingers tightly into fists, she awaited the pain that was to come.

"_Crucio_."

She barely heard the word leave his mouth, but she ceased to even _care_ about hearing ever again when the pain struck her. She dropped to the floor, her knees banging on the hard linoleum as she opened her mouth in a soundless scream. The pain was white-hot; everywhere and nowhere all at once, in a place so deep inside her that Hermione did not know where it was. Her eyes were closed, visions of various torture devices flashing through her mind as she realized that none would hurt as much as this.

Her vision cleared for only a moment; she had to stay strong for Harry.

And then the pain engulfed her once again as her short fingernails dug into her palms, thin lines of blood running from the crescent-shaped marks. Anything, _anything _to make it stop.

And, just as she squeezed the thought out through her dazed brain, the pain was over, almost as if it had never been there at all, although Hermione's body still shuddered from the shock. In the vertigo of the pain, she had also bitten her lower lip, and as she moved her tongue to lick her dry lips she grimaced at the sudden and unpleasant coppery taste of blood. It shamed her, that she was so weak that she couldn't take this pain. She had wished in her mind for it to stop, for something to _do_ to stop it, and he had acquiesced.

She could feel magic pulling at her body as she was lifted off the ground and back into a standing position against the wall across from Voldemort. She didn't know if the silencing spell had been removed, but she didn't think her voice would work even if it was gone. Although she had made no noise, her throat was raw from her silenced screams.

"I do not wish to ignore such an ideal opportunity," he spoke calmly as though the last several minutes had never happened. "So I am giving you one more chance to keep your life."

Hermione gulped, again summoning the strength to intensely glare at him.

He responded with an amused chuckle, staring down at her with what could only be described as gratification in her defiance. It was like he expected her to withstand the pain, and yet still bravely resist him.

Voldemort leaned in closer, his words tickling the shell of her ear. "Well, since pain does not seem to have the desired effect on you…how about pleasure?"

Hermione's eyes widened further when his hand wrenched her chin up and his lips descended onto hers with a fierce violence.

The momentary shock of his actions increased tenfold when, to her surprise, she found herself returning the kiss with equal fervor, conveying a passion she didn't even know she had. She thought she had a passion for Healing, but it in _no_ way compared to the feeling of convergence she felt at their electric connection. It was like a tiny spark had passed between them, and she was shocked at the _rightness_ that she felt being this close to him. She was equally surprised that he seemed to match her own ardor, the two of them even forgetting for a moment that one was supposed to be torturing the other.

The question of whether or not the silencing spell was still in effect was answered as Hermione let out a soft moan, freezing her movements as she felt Voldemort smirk against her lips.

Hermione jerked her head out of his grasp, breathing heavily from the recent lack of air.

"Hmm, nothing seems to work with you," Voldemort said with a smirk. "I am surprised at how receptive you are to _'torture_.'"

Hermione scowled, still playing catch-up from the bizarre turn of events that had transpired during the night. There was _no way_ that what just happened was normal. He was _Lord Voldemort_, and she was _not_ supposed to be attracted to him!

If he felt as disconcerted as she did, then he was much better at hiding it. While the two of them had still been oblivious of the other's identity, she thought they had been very comparable, but she felt an almost _electric _bond once they had connected like that. She would almost feel guilty, if it didn't feel so _good_.

She saw him tilt his head to one side, obviously surveying her thoughts. The strangest thing was, she didn't even _care_.

_What's wrong with me! What would _Harry_ think!!_

At the mention of Harry's name, she tensed at the smirking grin that grew on Voldemort's face.

"Remember our little deal, dear?" He asked, turning her chin sharply back towards him when she tried to look away.

Inside he shuddered slightly; just that small touch made him want to kiss her again. And he would _not_ lose control like that again. He was Lord _Voldemort_, and he was always in control.

"Bring Harry Potter to me, and I will let you live." He released her.

"How do you know I won't—"

He cut off her bluff. "Please. I have your wand, if you've forgotten." A wave of his own, and hers zoomed into his hand from its forgotten position lying behind him in the middle of the hallway.

"You try anything, and I will know."

She didn't bother questioning him _how_ he could possibly know, but simply backed away from him, not wanting to let his piercing stare or smirking grin get to her. Hell, he _knew_ it did, what was the point?

Once she turned the corner and was out of his sight, she started to run, ignoring the searing pain in her feet by running in higher heels than she'd ever worn in her life. She was almost at the entrance to the ballroom, and froze moments before rushing back in.

What _am I going to do?_ She thought, completely confused, disregarding the nauseating tightness in her stomach at the thought of either dying herself or letting Harry take her fall. She didn't want to do _either_, but she couldn't think of a way to save both their lives and still come out on top.

The one thing she knew: She _had_ to find a way to let someone else know what was going on. She needed some way to contact the Aurors; even the _Ministry_ would probably be able to do more good than harm at this point.

She tried to calm herself before throwing her shoulders back and walking into the ballroom. She was surprised at first to see the uncovered faces of every person in the room, but remembered that midnight had passed—some _half-hour_ ago by the looks of the giant clock above her. This would make things even harder; she would have no mask to hide behind to conceal her true emotions. She had never had that good of a 'poker face,' and she figured that also contributed to her horrible ineptitude at Occlumency.

With the crowd unmasked, she was able to seek out Harry much quicker than she'd thought she could. He was by the refreshments table, presumably getting a drink for Ginny, who was nowhere to be seen. She hurried over there, wanting to tell him the straight truth. Sure, Voldemort had told her to bring him Harry, but he said nothing about not _informing_ Harry of what was going on.

"_Harry!_"

She winced; she hadn't meant to make her voice sound that desperate.

"Hey, Hermione! We haven't seen you all night." Harry looked indolently interested as he filled up two cups with punch. "Ginny just went to the loo, have you seen her?"

_The Bathroom! Of course!_

"Actually, I was going to ask you where she was. I-I'll go find her for you. Don't move!"

Hermione ignored the strange look she received, _hoping_ he followed her indistinct instructions. While she wouldn't put it past him to have her followed into the women's restroom, she knew it was probably the safest place to talk undetected.

Trying to keep her face impassive and her stride even, Hermione walked towards the corridor that she knew led to the restrooms. She pushed past an elegantly dressed blond-haired woman, ignoring her condescending glance before passing through the door marked with the universal female figurine marking the front, sighing in relief when she saw Ginny washing her hands.

"Ginny!" Hermione knew she had never sounded more relieved in her life. She could trust Ginny with this; most likely herself and Harry would be watched while Ginny could get to the proper authorities.

"Hey, Hermione!" She gave her friend a disapproving stare. "Why aren't you still with that wizard you were dancing with earlier? I swear, if I have to set you up with _Ron_ just so you have a date, that's—"

Hermione cut her off, grabbing her friend's arm and pulling her into the handicapped stall at the end of the row. "I have to tell you something."

Ginny's eyes lit up, and Hermione didn't have the heart to correct her for the numerous assumptions by now whirling through the redhead's mind.

She locked the door, turning back to Ginny. The redhead's eager anticipation turned to confusion. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione paused. No one had been in the restroom when Hermione walked in, but she didn't want to take the chance of being overheard.

"You know the wizard I was dancing with earlier?" She whispered the words.

Ginny nodded, now unsure as to where this was going. "Hermione, if he hurt you…"

Hermione gave her friend a wry smile, before launching into the truth.

"That was Voldemort, Ginny. He's here. He's trying to get at Harry, and we have to stop him."

Ginny's already pale skin got a few shades whiter as she realized the implications of Hermione's words. It made sense, in a way; the first time Harry had left Grimmauld Place, and something like _this_ had happened. They thought tonight would be safe, but they were horribly, horribly wrong.

Hermione paused again; she could've _sworn_ she heard the sound of the main door opening, but after a few seconds of silence she supposed she was imagining things.

"I need you to alert the Ministry. I'll confront Voldemort."

If possible, Ginny paled further. "Hermione, don't be a martyr. We'll get Harry to safety, somehow!"

Hermione steeled her courage. "Well, he has my wand, and I want it back."

Ginny laughed feebly, concern and worry for Harry written all over her face. "Hermione, this is no time for jokes."

She nodded. "I'd rather it was me than Harry. If…if he attacks all the people in that room, then…"

She didn't even need to finish, the implications were there. Voldemort had given her a specific task, and really, all the people in that ballroom didn't need to die, just one of them. It was her fault, she got herself into this mess, and she would find some way to resolve it.

"Surely we can find some other way…does Harry know?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "Not yet. But I'm in too deep. If I don't hand over Harry, he'll kill me. If I try to run, he'll kill me."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Wait, so he said he'd _let_ you live if you did what he said? That doesn't sound like V—you-know-who."

Hermione deliberately kept the information to herself about what _else_ had transpired between the two; telling Ginny _or_ Harry that would only make things worse for herself. After all, it's not like she _liked_ him or anything.

Of course not. Because in a situation like this, _who_ would _like_ someone currently trying to kill them or their best friend?

_Definitely not me_, she reassured herself.

"Alright, then." Ginny's hand gripped her wand tightly. "You go to Harry, I'll go alert the Aurors."

Hermione nodded, moving to unlock the door. "I'll leave first." She slipped out, noting that once again the bathroom was empty.

"Be careful." Ginny's words were sincere.

"You too. Good luck."

Hermione smiled at her friend before leaving, smiling with relief when she saw that Harry hadn't budged from his spot near the refreshments table, but had been drinking his cup of punch with gusto.

He saw her approaching, immediately knowing that something was wrong.

"Hermione, what's wrong? You're acting strange."

Hermione found her calm guise was even harder to keep up when it was called into suspicion. "There's, uh, nothing wrong."

She smiled briefly as her boss passed her, before turning back to Harry and pulling him aside, her back to the rest of the crowd in case anyone tried to read her lips or accidentally heard her words.

"Harry, something _is_ wrong. I'm sorry, but…"

She couldn't find a way to tell her best friend that the man who'd tried to kill him _several_ times over his life was waiting just a few rooms away, ready and waiting to try again. _How do I tell him that?_

"Voldemort. He's here."

She decided with the blunt approach; delaying any longer would make him suspicious when she herself took longer to get Harry there.

"He knew who I was…he…" She found the next words the hardest of all to say. "He's trying to get me to give you to him, or he'll kill me. But I don't care, you have to get away from here."

Harry's eyes had darkened with the prospect of once again meeting his nemesis in battle, but as he looked around the room he saw Hermione's point.

"This isn't a good place for a battle, people could get hurt!"

Hermione nodded in agreement. "I know, and he's exploiting that. He knows we won't risk a battle with so many innocent people here."

Harry looked around the room again. "Where is he?"

"Not here," Hermione answered quickly, her mind formatting a plan as quickly as she could. "There's a corridor leading to the new wing. He's there."

She was glad Harry didn't ask just _how_ she had stumbled across Lord Voldemort in an empty corridor during a masquerade ball, and she doubted she'd have answered with the truth had he asked. It was something she'd be happy to keep a secret for the rest of her days.

"What do you think we should do?"

Hermione noted how one of Harry's hands now rested comfortably in the pocket of his black wizarding robes, probably gripping his wand in the event that he'd have to use it suddenly. Hermione hoped her plan would work, and that the knowledge of the new wing's geography from her brief interning job at St. Mungo's would come in handy.

"Here's the plan," she told him. "I'll tell him that I got you to wait in the _Emergency_ Wing"—she gestured to a corridor on the opposite side, whose hallway was much closer to the open ballroom than the other wing—"and hopefully I can stall him long enough to give Ginny time to call the Order."

Harry didn't ask her _how_ she planned to _stall_ Voldemort, and Hermione didn't have a clue herself. Sure, he'd probably spend a few minutes torturing her out of spite—_preferably _both_ kinds of torture…did I _really_ just think_ _that?_

"One more thing," Hermione said, trying to prepare Harry as best she could. "He's changed. Voldemort. He doesn't look the way you described."

Harry gave her a confused look, but nodded just the same. "Alright, Hermione. Just…be careful."

Hermione gave her friend a reassuring smile, trying not to let her _own_ anxiety affect him. She tried her best to appear calm, but inside her stomach and mind were in knots. _My friend's life…my _own_ life is in danger and all I can think about is the next time I'll see _him! _He's the bloody Dark Lord! I shouldn't find him so…so…_

Her mind supplied the words, '_devilishly attractive_,' but Hermione tried to swallow it down in preparation to clear her mind to meet him again. He would probably scrape their hurried plan right out from the back of her mind, but really, what else could she do?

Hermione tiptoed as silently as she could down the empty corridor, its lack of lighting feeling a lot spookier the second time around. She cursed her choice of footwear; it was impossible to walk anything _near_ silently in the heels she had worn.

She couldn't see him; but in the darkened hallway every shadow looked foreboding, and every sudden rush of air from a window felt like the precursor to a spell. It did nothing for her nerves, which were already shot to hell. If she was going to go down, she was going to go fighting, and she was going to go in style.

"Where is our _guest_?"

The words came from behind her, slithering into her ear from the man she had so vehemently tried to avoid yet found she couldn't resist.

Hermione spun, but found her arms trapped by one of his own, his angry stare something she hoped she would never have to see again.

"_Where is Harry Potter_?"

Hermione was still shocked into silence, searching for her voice even as his long fingers tightened around her left arm, the skin tingling in a way that was not wholly unpleasant.

"H-He wouldn't come with me here, but I told him to go to the Wing on the other side of the ballroom." _Stall_. "He wants to fight you, but he didn't want anyone else here to get involved."

Voldemort's lip curled distastefully at her words. "So, you don't follow the rules like I was led to believe, Hmm?"

Hermione had a bad feeling about this.

"Well, what did you expect?" She bit back. "That I was going to gift-wrap him for you?"

She flinched at his cruel laughter, readying herself for whatever punishment his vindictive mind was ready to dole out.

"If you value your own life, then yes."

Hermione met his gaze boldly, thinking as loudly as she could that her own life was a small price to pay when a friend's was on the line.

"You are a fool, Hermione." The words were softer than she thought they'd be; shouldn't he be yelling at her, cursing her?

"Would you _like_ me to curse you?" He sounded amused.

Her arm still tingled from where he held her. "Was that a rhetorical question?" She bit back. "Who _enjoys_ being _cursed_?"

His face was only inches from her own. "Are you sure?" Again, the words were dangerously soft, unnerving her more simply because it was unexpected.

_If he kisses me_, Hermione thought, _I will smack him_.

A grin flitted across his face.

"_Really_?" He asked amusedly. She shot him a dirty look. He knew what she wanted; he could read _minds_, after all.

_Of course not_.

His lips were on hers again, his arms blocking her own from moving; he was in control, _always_ in control, but she liked it, oddly enough. Again, she briefly wondered why it felt so _good_ being with someone who so clearly did not have her best intentions at heart—if he _had_ one—but then she gave in to the vertigo of the mind, that electric connection; she couldn't _think_ straight when someone was kissing her like _that_.

_Stall, stall, stall…hell, who am I kidding?_

She felt his fingers slip into her hair as her head was wrenched to the side. His eyes were livid.

"You _think_ your _precious_ Order and yourself is enough to stop _me_? You thought, _what_, I _cared_ about you enough to _give_ you enough time to, hmm, _assemble_ some paltry fighters who don't even stand a _chance_."

Hermione couldn't believe that she was extremely disconcerted by his words; it shocked her, but at that moment she was scared at the thought of him being taken away from her.

_W-what? What's _wrong_ with me?_

Her eyes widened as she saw the deadly intent in his eyes; he was going to _kill_ her, she was _sure_ of it.

They held the gaze, her own terrified eyes staring back into his darkened ones. She expected to see a green light at any moment, but it shocked her more that _nothing_ seemed to be happening. He wasn't moving; _she_ certainly wasn't moving.

Voldemort was equally surprised by the weight that spread through his veins at the mere thought of killing the girl. His arms felt as heavy as lead, and he felt that, _what_, he would be _missing something_ if she was no longer around?

He could barely find an answer to the question of _why_ he chose _now_ to want to keep someone else alive; it was clear the girl had outlived her usefulness. Sure she was interesting, and pretty enough, but there were surely a million others like her.

Even as the thought completed itself in his mind, he knew it wasn't true. She even had the _audacity_ to question him, a fact he found both vexing and refreshing, if only she could learn her place.

"Don't make me regret keeping you alive," he sneered, keeping a tight grip on her arm as he dragged her down the hallway. "Lead the way."

Hermione's eyes were still wide with shock. _He…_wasn't_ going to kill me?_

It was easy enough to navigate; a left turn here, a set of doors there, but Hermione felt her stomach dropping with each step she took. _Why_ did he keep her alive? What was so special about _her_?

Not that she was complaining, of course. Hermione was glad her heart was still beating in her chest, and preferred it to stay that way. But bringing up the issue of why they couldn't seem to control themselves around each other—throwing herself at a near-_complete_ stranger was _not_ a common practice of hers.

"Which way?" The words were curt; they had reached another long hallway that stretched indefinitely in both directions, although she could hear the strains of a waltz from the corridor to their left.

Hermione was confused, relieved, and terrified. "This _is_ the Emergency Ward," she admitted.

She was sure her life expectancy was going to be put to yet _another_ test, when they heard shouts coming from the right corridor. She could see a jet of green light pass, and heard a distinctly feminine cackle, followed by a chorus of shouts that she determined Harry's to be among.

Hermione tensed; she felt Voldemort's grip on her arm tighten as well.

Suddenly, a familiar green-eyed boy appeared in the corridor, barely pulling up a _Protego_ charm on his right upon seeing the two.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, trying to twist out of Voldemort's grip unsuccessfully.

Voldemort smirked. "We meet again, Potter." Hermione stared in trepidation between the two.

"Boy, don't think you can run from _me_!" Bellatrix's overconfident laugh filled the narrow hallway.

Hermione twisted around; she heard footsteps coming behind her. She closed her eyes briefly, certain of how the evening would end for her. She had no _wand_, in the _middle_ of a battle, and she was positive that Voldemort would not inexplicably save her again.

She recognized him without his mask; Lucius Malfoy was coming up the hallway behind her, wand at the ready. His eyes met Hermione's, and she physically _felt_ the intense hatred towards her.

Lucius sneered upon seeing Hermione's vulnerability. "Time to _die_, Mudblood."

The jet of green light was brighter than she thought possible, especially when it was coming towards her.

Bellatrix still had not entered the hallway, but Hermione could still hear her voice. "Prepare to die, boy!"

Voldemort's head twisted sharply at Lucius' words, and he heard the girl's fear in his mind. He couldn't explain it, but once again he was filled with an overwhelming desire to _protect_ her, to keep her alive at all costs. It was an odd feeling, he was sure he'd never felt it before, but he acted on it now instinctively, drawing Hermione against him and turning to the side to protect her.

Hermione saw Harry dodge the jet of green light from Bellatrix's wand, her victorious smile frozen in place as she entered the hallway, the final scene in perfect display.

The second jet of light filled the hallway from the other side, and Hermione's free arm wrapped around Voldemort, covering his body with her own as she looked up into his surprised face, feeling unexpectedly relaxed herself.

The two jets hit them both at the same time, and Hermione was happy that the last thing that she saw was his face.

And then white.

And then nothing at all.

* * *

Harry's stunner hit Lucius Malfoy square in the chest as the rest of the Order followed behind him, subduing the remaining Death Eaters who had been summoned by Narcissa and Lucius upon hearing that Voldemort was attending the ball and planned on taking out Harry Potter there.

It didn't take long; the air was filled with the sound of tiny _pop_'s as the masked Death Eaters that had become aware of their Lord's death apparated away to safety.

Even with fervent urging on several Order member's parts, Harry wouldn't leave the scene, moving closer to where his best friend and worst enemy lay dead at each other's sides.

He decided his eyes were playing tricks on him; Voldemort _couldn't_ have been _protecting_ Hermione when he pulled her out of the way of Malfoy's killing curse. Just as Hermione _couldn't_ have been _hugging_ him moments before she died.

"Harry?"

He looked up; Nymphadora Tonks was the latest to try and urge him to leave the building; It wouldn't _'do well_,' as they said, for his name and face to be implicated once again with Voldemort's in so public a place.

"In a second."

He couldn't believe what it had cost. The freedom of the Wizarding world had cost the life of his best friend.

He didn't _feel_ free. He probably wouldn't for a very long time.

He looked down on their faces, surprised. Normally, the Killing Curse's effect was prominent, but both Voldemort's and Hermione's eyes were closed and they looked completely at peace; almost like they were sleeping.

_They_ looked free.

He would try to take some solace in that.

**End.**

_Run, baby, run  
Don't ever look back.  
They'll tear us apart  
If you give them the chance.  
Don't sell your heart.  
Don't say we're not meant to be.  
Run, baby, run.  
Forever will be  
You and me._

"_Check Yes Juliet," We the Kings_

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A/N: So, how was that? Its inspiration was _Romeo and Juliet_, of course it had to have a sad ending xD I apologize for the possible OOC-ness, but in place of Romeo & Juliet's instant blind devotion I tried to substitute a strange sudden connection between both Hermione and Voldemort.

Please, let me know with reviews if you liked this! I have plenty more ideas for one-shots, and since this is the only HP pairing I write for it makes more sense to put them together than to post them individually.

The little purple button is your friend!

Love, Kako


	3. The Cliché Way

Four Seasons of You and Me

A/N: Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed on the first two chapters! Sakura Takanouchi, xXTwilight PrincessXx, Dark'nLightAngel, SlytherinPrinzessin, 3rdplanet, se0127, NightRaven13, My Misguided Fairytale, and Contagion. You all make me very happy!

_Number Three)_ _HG/TR Parody_

Notes: Ever notice how most of the HG/TR fics seem to follow the exact same identical plot? How convenient every little detail is? How completely out of character everyone happens to be? In this one-shot, not only do all these things happen, but I revel in it. _Features_: Senile!Dumbledore, _major _Ron bashing, OOC!Tom, and much, much more.

Warning: Please do not take this installment seriously. I don't mean to target or insult anybody or any stories with this, as a lot can pull off the basic time-turner plot. I'm just taking all the similarities between every HG/TR time-turner story I've read and blowing them out of proportions.

Last but not least, thanks to my beta **Sakura Takanouchi**, who not being an HG/TR writer was next to no help with these clichés. Tsk, tsk.

* * *

_The Cliché Way_

Hermione cracked open her eyes; the sun was shining, the birds thankfully were _not_ singing (Lavender's owl clearly takes after her owner when it comes to their singing abilities) and it looked to be the start of another wonderful day.

Not like it could be anything different, of course. Hermione Granger _never_ has bad days. Of course, she's read about that sort of thing in books, and heard Ron and Harry's experiences with it—the day his parents died, _definitely_ a bad day—but life for Hermione was perfect.

Hermione got up from her bed, blinking in surprise at the reflection that greeted her in the mirror.

Her hair was frizz-free and perfectly curly, flowing down her back like a waterfall; she wasn't sure she had _ever_ been that tall or that thin, and the surprised bugged-out expression on her face translated into stunningly shocked. She was sure she wasn't wearing makeup; and if she _had_, there's no way it would look that good after a night of sleep.

She frowned.

_Looks like Parvati forgot to turn off the 'superficiality' setting on her magic mirror_, Hermione thought with distaste, flicking the switch on the side of the mirror and returning her reflection to her normal, shorter-than-average, bushy-haired self.

Hermione wandered downstairs to the Gryffindor common room, where she was immediately met by Harry and Ron.

"Hey, Hermione, I got a letter from Dumbledore this morning!" Harry sounded much happier than usual about that sort of thing happening. "He wants the three of us to meet him in the Headmaster's Office."

"What time?" Hermione asked, thinking the request odd.

"Oh, fifteen minutes ago," Harry answered casually.

"_Fifteen?_ Why aren't we going now?" Hermione spluttered.

"Oh, we want to be fashionably late," Harry said, like it was obvious. "_Honestly, _he wants me to do everything else, does he expect me to be on _time_, too?"

Hermione assumed the question was rhetorical, and followed the boys to the Headmaster's Office, Harry saying the password loudly ("Pepper Imps!" "Really? I'd love some!") and the trio wandered inside the office, where Dumbledore sat waiting for them, bowl of lemon drops in hand.

"Good morning, students," Dumbledore told them.

"Here, have a lemon drop!" He held out the silver bowl to each of them in turn. Hermione politely declined, causing Dumbledore to leap out of his chair in anger, practically shoving the bowl of sugary-sweet lemon-flavored candies into her hands.

"You _must_ eat them! The company gives me an incentive for promoting their product, with every lemon drop I give away, they send me a new pair of socks!"

Hermione blinked, edging away from the aging Headmaster and pushing the bowl of lemon drops towards Harry.

"You'd love some, Harry, wouldn't you?" She asked with fake sweetness in her voice.

"_Traitor_," he hissed under his breath, taking a lemon drop and also faking a smile.

Satisfied, Dumbledore sat back down. "I called you all in here today because of an urgent crisis that has only recently resurfaced to the wizarding world."

The three were instantly interested. "What is it, sir?" Harry asked.

"Oh, Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore responded seriously.

"Hasn't he been a threat all along?" Hermione asked skeptically.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Probably, but it was only lately that we've decided to give him any attention. Be that as it may, I have decided to trust you three teenagers with an extremely important mission."

Ron looked to be choking on a lemon drop; the others pretended not to notice.

"Hermione," Dumbledore turned back towards her. "I believe you still have your Time-turner, correct?"

Hermione frowned. "Sir, I gave it back nearly four years ago. I have no _idea_ what's happe—"

Harry cut her off. "Quit kidding around! Of _course_ you kept it, Hermione!"

She rolled her eyes, sarcastically muttering, "Yes, because that sounds _exactly_ like me, keeping a _priceless_ magical artifact for completely _ludicrous_ reasons."

Dumbledore laughed slightly, pointing to the floor by her chair. "Oh, look, you dropped it!"

Hermione peered down, the time-turner from her third year lay on the stone floor, the golden chain coiled around the hourglass pendant. "How in the _hell_ did _that_ get there?"

"You dropped it. We all saw you." Dumbledore's voice made her think twice about contradicting him again. She saw what he'd do for _candy_ and _socks_—did she _really_ want to see the lengths he'd go to protect a mission important enough to entrust to three _teenagers_?

She shivered; of course not.

"So," Dumbledore propped his chin up on the tips of his crossed fingertips. "You three will be using that time-turner to go back in time."

Hermione nodded, slipping the chain around her neck. The faster she was away from that senile old man, the better. "How far back?" She asked with what she hoped sounded like enthusiasm.

"Oh, fifty years," the Headmaster shrugged.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. _Did he just say fifty_ years_?!_

"When?" Hermione asked, her gaze shifting between the three others in the room. "_Now?_"

"_Why?_" Hermione couldn't figure out why going back in time fifty years would help their current predicament.

"You will be going back in time to meet Tom Riddle, more commonly known by his stage name of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore announced to the trio's shocked expressions.

"B-but _how_ do we use my time-turner to go back _fifty_ _years_?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, that shouldn't be that hard," Harry said lightly, reaching for the long chain to slip around his neck and Ron's, who by now had coughed up the first lemon drop and was starting himself on another.

"_Honestly_, you turn it back one turn for each hour! To go back fifty years, I'd need to turn this thing four hundred and thirty eight _thousand_ times!"

"So?" Ron's voice was muffled through the lemon drops. "We know you can do math, you don't need to go _parading_ around with it."

"_So_ it would take _me_ the next fifty years just to do _that_!" Hermione couldn't help but sound patronizing. _Honestly, if he legalized my use of the time-turner in the first place, shouldn't he at least know how to operate it?_

"Oh, that won't be a problem," Dumbledore said expectantly. "Just turn it fifty times. Actually, I don't even think you'll need to do that. Maybe even five times will do it."

_What kind of sense does _that_ make?_ Hermione thought. Maybe she was still dreaming, maybe she was even in some kind of strange alternate universe!

Dumbledore broke out into a huge smile. "Oh, looks like it doesn't even need to be turned at all!"

Hermione looked down; the remnants of the broken time turner lay in the flat palm of her hand, the sand slipping down through the cracks inbetween her fingers. _How in the _hell_ did that break?_

"Ron, if you did something…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she noticed the scenery around them changing as the colors blurred together and the lights faded to black. The last thing she heard was Dumbledore's fading voice, calling out, "see you fifty years ago!"

Hermione sighed, and decided that _yes_, she was most definitely still dreaming. She closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up when her body hit something hard and she blacked out, slipping into unconsciousness as her mind registered three words spoken by a masculine voice so dreamy it rivaled Lockhart's.

"_What_ the _hell?_"

* * *

Hermione's eyes blinked open in mixed surprise and confusion; she found she was strapped to a hospital bed in a bland white room that could only be Hogwart's infirmary. She craned her neck to the side, the gesture causing her eyes to tear up at the sudden movement, but she was able to see Ron and Harry further down in the hall talking to a nurse at the door.

She heard Harry thank the nurse, and the two of them skipped over to Hermione's bedside, happy smiles on their faces.

"W-what's happened?" She was able to croak out through parched lips.

"Oh, we took care of it all," Ron said breezily. "This time's Dumbledore was awesome, we told him all about our mission and how we're from the _future_, you know, all that important stuff."

Hermione blanched. "You…_what_? Ron, don't you know _anything_?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Hermione, it's taken you this long to figure that out? Aren't you supposed to be the _smart_ one?"

She groaned. "At least tell me when I can get out of here."

"In approximately the next couple of hours, if the bump on your head is any indication." The words were spoken by the perfectly coiffed man leaning against the doorframe.

Hermione only heard the voice, and she slumped back against her pillow in happiness.

"Oy, she fainted _again_?" Ron said exasperatedly.

"And you two are?" The man in the doorframe asked, critically eyeing the other two. He strode into the room, his dark robes billowing around him. "The exchange students?"

Harry nodded, they had worked the basics of their cover out with Dumbledore, and were going to meet with him later to discuss their House assignments and the best way to pursue their mission.

"I'm Tom Riddle, Head Boy," he said, flipping back his hair dramatically as he spoke.

"Harry, uhh…Evans," Harry supplied, elbowing Ron in the ribs.

"Ow! I'm, uhh, Ron Wazlib?" He turned to Harry for confirmation, who nodded at the invented surname.

"Nice to meet you." Tom had edged away slightly at the unattractive names, various excuses running through his head in order to politely escape the situation. He _couldn't_ very well say he had to leave to go torture some Muggles or kick some puppies, could he?

"I have to…go. To…the library." Tom breathed a sigh of relief at the understanding and even sympathetic expressions on the two other's faces.

"Hermione!" Ron shook the unconscious girl after Tom had left, trying his hardest to wake her.

"_Ron_, honestly, did you even _bring_ your wand with you?" Harry rolled his eyes. "_Ennervate_."

Hermione's eyes shot open as she leaned forward in the hospital bed, all attention on her as Ron's defensive "…yes," went unheard.

"Come on, Hermione, we have to fill you in on what's happened! We arranged a meeting with Dumbledore! It started, well, ten minutes ago," Harry said. "I'm _not_ going to be on time. We've got to get him used to the idea."

Hermione let herself get pulled from the bed, staggering slightly at the effects of the concussion she must have suffered. The room's objects and occupants swam before her eyes as her vision slowly adjusted.

Several minutes later, the three of them were seated in Dumbledore's office, located close to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione sat down gingerly in a red armchair, ready to run at any sign or mention of lemon drops.

"Miss Hermione Granger, I was looking forward to meeting you," Dumbledore began. "Harry and Ron here have told me nothing but good things about you. I think you might just be the solution to a recent problem here at Hogwarts."

Now Hermione was curious. How could this time's Dumbledore possibly need her help?

"Well, you see, this year's supposed Head Girl recently ate some poisoned candy"—Dumbledore shook his head sympathetically as Hermione inched further towards the very edge of the seat of her armchair—"and well, the rest of the female seventh years are incredible idiots, to put it lightly." He smiled serenely.

"_And_, of course, there is the _incredible_ academic aptitude here on this transcript I forged! Absolutely marvelous," Dumbledore continued. "I see the only possible course of action is to make you Head Girl, Miss Granger."

"B-but—" Hermione's protests were cut off by Harry and Ron's jubilant congratulations.

"That _hardly_ helps us with our cover!" Hermione argued. "Why, how am I supposed to be Head Girl if I'm _supposed_ to have no knowledge of how this school runs or even where my classes are?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "That's unimportant. No one _cares_ about protocol like that! I just _forged_ your transcript, the _least_ you could do is be grateful," he sniffed.

"Uh, thank you? No, wait—"Hermione smacked herself in the head as Dumbledore interrupted her again, escorting Harry and Ron out and giving them the password to the Gryffindor portrait, asking them, "sorting? What? Did I _really_ say that? No, you two will be helping me—uh, Gryffindor win the cup!"

He turned back towards Hermione. "Sir, I really do think this is a bad idea," she said.

"Nonsense! _None_ of my ideas are bad!" Dumbledore answered jovially, and Hermione nearly had to bite her tongue to keep from contradicting him about his _numerous_ bad ideas.

"What is our cover story?" Hermione asked. "Certainly the students are going to ask why we're transferring."

Dumbledore looked at her over his glasses quizzically. "I can make the forged transcript from Beauxbatons, is that alright, Miss Granger?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know French."

Dumbledore tapped his chin in thought. "How about the three of you were all tragically orphaned during the war?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "_More_ war_?_"

"No, probably not," Dumbledore mused. "I've got it. You three just finished delivering the One Ring to Mordor, and now you're returning to school." He leaned back, satisfied. "It's foolproof! A rock-solid explanation if I ever heard one. Just let the students try to see through _that_!"

"Sir," Hermione began, skillfully changing the subject. "Have you told Ron or Harry how we're going to go back to our own time?"

Dumbledore looked puzzled. "Go back? Was that part of the plan?"

Hermione had to pause. "Well, I'm sure that was _implied_, but—"

The professor cut her off. "Well, _I _sure can't think of a way! Looks like you'll be staying here for awhile, so make yourself comfortable!"

That thought made Hermione _anything_ but comfortable, but she resolved to accept this as a new challenge. Really, living in the forties shouldn't be that bad. They didn't have color television, but at least they had indoor plumbing.

"So, my dear, are you ready to go to your room?" Dumbledore's voice jolted Hermione out of her reverie.

"My…room?" She asked confusedly.

Dumbledore nodded happily. "Yes, your Head Girl dormitory! Both of the Heads share a common room on the seventh floor, didn't you know that?"

Hermione threw herself back in her chair, her eyes widening at the implications.

"_WHAT?!_"

"Oh, you don't have this in your time?" Dumbledore asked casually, ignoring Hermione's outburst completely.

"Of _course_ we don't have this in my time! Co-ed housing for hormonal teenagers? It's probably _illegal_," Hermione cringed.

"Well, I'm sure it was discontinued in the seventies, or something," Dumbledore said offhandedly. "The password is 'bloody hell.' Have fun!"

Hermione scowled, deciding just to get it over with and confront Riddle. She'd faced worse before, so living with the enemy, who just so _happened_ to be a hormonal teenager, shouldn't be that much of a problem, right?

Hermione sighed as she left the office. She didn't even _need_ any Divination to know exactly where this was headed.

* * *

In a rare bout of anti-climactic tension, Tom was nowhere to be seen in the spacious common room allotted to the two Heads. Her room was nice (and she was sure the bed was a whole lot larger than it really needed to be) and Dumbledore had even seen to provide Hermione with all of her books for her NEWT-level classes. Next to the books was a printed letter, detailing her schedule.

_I made sure to schedule all your classes with Mr. Riddle's! Don't let the '_opportunity' _go to waste! ;-) –Dumbledore _

Hermione blanched. _Did he REALLY just _write_ a WINK at the end of that letter?_

Hermione tried to erase that image from her mind by crumpling up the letter, but it was already emblazoned into her brain. _Too late_.

She threw herself on the bed, not even caring that she was lying on it horizontally and her feet barely dangled off the edge. _I am going to sleep, and when I wake up, I will not be here_, she told herself repeatedly.

_And_, she swore. _If I dream of Riddle, I'm going to kill something…him…_yes_, I can dream of killing him, can't I?_

Sleep wasn't long in coming at all.

* * *

Hermione woke up with only minutes to spare to get to her first class, running to Potions like her life depended on it. She arrived, breathless, sliding into the only available seat in the class, right next to Harry.

Professor Slughorn waddled in moments after, and Hermione brightened considerably at seeing another familiar face. She knew she'd have no problem in this class.

"Ah, I see that we have one new student here!" Slughorn called out jovially. "You, young lady, tell us a little about yourself."

Hermione coughed, looking around the room sheepishly. "My name's Hermione Granger, and I'm the new Head Girl."

"Splendid!" Slughorn said enthusiastically. "A _transfer_ student with no knowledge of the school whatsoever, making Head Girl! I didn't even know that was _possible_!"

"I didn't think so either," Hermione only nodded, shifting uncomfortably in her chair.

"Now," Slughorn continued. "You might need a mite of help catching up, hmm? I think I'll pair you for today's class with the best in the class…" his eyes roved the classroom, seeking out his favored pupil. "Tom Riddle! Yes, come help Miss Granger here!"

Both looked like they would rather swallow Acromantula venom than perform the suggested task, but Hermione dully moved aside to make space for Tom as he joined their table.

"Excuse me, Professor Slughorn, but _I'm _also a new student," Harry said, blinking in confusion.

"What?" Slughorn looked equally perplexed. "It says here that I only get one new student." He laughed. "I'm sure I've seen you here all six years. Never forget a face," he tapped the side of his head for emphasis. "Nice prank, though, my boy. A lesser teacher would've fallen for it!" He waddled away, calling out instructions to the class ("brew whatever you like! I'm in a good mood today!") and whistling as he magically opened all of the storage cabinets in the room.

Hermione pulled out her textbook, frowning at the conspicuous title. "_100 reprintings of Draught of the Living Death: the only potion you'll ever need for this class_…is this for real?" Hermione asked, thumbing through the book in disbelief.

Beside her, Tom also had his book open. "Page one hundred and sixty-seven," Tom told her, running one finger down the page. "We're making that one. I'll get the supplies." He stalked off as Hermione opened the book gingerly, frowning at the title '_Draught of the Living Death_' as it glanced off both sides.

Tom returned, pewter scales and various ingredients in his hands, setting them lightly onto the table.

"Miss Granger," he said cordially.

"_Riddle_," she replied curtly.

He began assembling the base of the potion, Hermione moving automatically to cut up the heffalump root. She was unnerved by the breezy demeanor of the class, although absolutely _none_ of it made sense to her.

"You do know that every single potion in this book is the same exact one, right?" Hermione asked conspiratorially.

Tom raised an eyebrow, and Hermione felt even more flustered for bringing it up. But it was _unsettling_ seeing everyone carry on like it was normal! And why wasn't Ron in the class?

"It could be worse," Tom offered politely, collecting the chopped heffalump root. "My fifth year, the only class offered was Potions. Be thankful you didn't transfer then."

Hermione had to agree with him; that _would've_ been pretty boring.

Ten minutes later, Hermione added the last ingredient, the dried woozle powder, and the potion turned its customary shade of dark, satiny blue-black. Tom looked satisfied, but Hermione couldn't help glancing up at him, wondering just _how_ someone so inherently _evil_ could look so _infuriatingly_ innocent.

Hermione brightened instantly. The answer was so simple! Maybe he truly _was_ innocent now while still at school, and they still had the chance to bring him back to the side of the light! It was logic so rudimentary that it certainly had to be true! Or maybe Dumbledore really _was_ rubbing off on her.

The class ended quickly, and Hermione left the class as quickly as she could after Slughorn beamed with approval at her potion, grabbing Harry's arm as she sped out into the corridor outside the classroom.

"We need to talk," Hermione told him. "And by the way, where is Ron?"

"Right behind you," Harry answered conversationally as Hermione jumped at Ron's sudden appearance.

"Hermione, I've been thinking," Ron started, pausing as Harry threw himself backwards in shock, scowling at his redheaded friend.

"Ron, don't _scare_ me like that!" He bit out, still trying to regulate his breathing.

Ron hesitated. "I…had an idea?"

Harry again felt his heart rate spike, but forced it down. "Better."

"So, do you want to hear it?" Ron asked hopefully. "I was outside, lying in the sunshine, and inspiration struck!"

Harry cringed. "Ron, we're all immensely proud of you for thinking and everything, but _please_ don't ruin that and open your mouth."

Hermione ignored the whole exchange, turning to Harry. "What do you think we should do about the whole…Riddle thing."

Harry shrugged. "We need to get close to him. I think you should seduce him, Hermione."

"_ME?!_" She nearly screamed, attracting some strange looks from a group of first years heading into the dungeons for their own potions class.

"Why me? I'm sure you'd be better at it," she sputtered, crossing her arms and glaring at the small crowd around them; first Ron, then the first-years, then Slughorn, the flower in his buttonhole beginning to wilt under her iron glare.

"Come _on_," Harry hissed, grabbing both their arms and pulling his two friends back towards the staircase to the main halls of the castle.

"He's got a point, you know," Harry continued. "You've seduced loads of people. Viktor Krum, in our fourth year—"

Hermione snorted. "I did not _seduce_ him."

"—And of course Ron here—"

"_WHAT?_" Hermione screeched.

"—And don't forget Professor Snape—no, wait, that was Ginny on Polyjuice, wasn't it?" Harry finished.

"_WHAT?_" both Hermione and Ron chorused.

"Nothing, nothing," Harry said hastily. "Plus, Hermione, you share a common room with him! It's really the next logical step."

Hermione wanted to counter that 'there are better ways to get closer to an evil maniac than seducing them!' but couldn't really think of any realistic and witty responses, so she settled on storming away.

"Hermione!" Ron called after her. "Where are you going?"

"To the library!" She answered. "To find out what's wrong with you!"

Ron looked miffed, but Harry nodded agreeably, and the two of them headed off in the opposite direction back to the Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

Hermione stomped through the doors of the library, marching past the clusters of Hufflepuffs and quietly studying Ravenclaws and heading straight for her favorite section, praying the dust over the shelves in her time was an indicator that the location hadn't been changed in years.

She was right, as the books on 'underwater basket weaving' remained exactly where she'd remembered them. She grabbed her favorite book, happily smiling at the thought of once again being able to perform a chevron weave while being completely submerged in water. Most people didn't appreciate the finer things!

Suddenly, her 'sexy Dark Lord' senses began tingling, and she spun around, gasping in shock at the sudden appearance of Tom Riddle.

He stepped forward. "What brings you here to this dark, secluded section of the library?"

Hermione shivered. With that voice, the man could make a list of Apothecary ingredients sound seductive!

"Underwater basket weaving," she said smoothly, holding up the book. "It's a hobby of mine."

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw his devilish smirk falter, that a spark of a kindred spirit lurked behind his soulless eyes!

"Mind if I join you?" He asked, pulling out a book from the same shelf.

Hermione frowned. Just _why_ was he being so polite? Just _what_ was his hidden agenda?

"What's your game?" She asked sharply. She couldn't hold it in any longer. "I _know_ you're evil, you've killed people, and you call yourself _Lord Voldemort_!"

Tom's look of confusion was convincing, but Hermione was on a roll. "So cut the act! I'm going to _stop_ you, if it's the last thing I do!"

Tom smirked, leaning back against the bookshelf, nose twitching slightly at the cloud of dust that rose behind him from his movements.

"Well, now that you have me figured out, what next?" He purred.

Hermione was taken aback. _What—purred? What the hell?_ She fought to keep her focus. _Damn…seductive…Dark Lord!_

"You have some nerve," she told him. "Being evil _and_ attractive! What's wrong with you?"

Tom began to stare at Hermione in a way that could only be described as instant devotion.

"You," he whispered. "You're what's wrong with me. Ever since you fell on me in the hallway immediately upon arriving to this school, you've been all I think about. I realize it's been less than twenty four hours, but I know we're _meant_ to be together."

Hermione gulped. _I…guess this seduction thing is easier than I thought._

"Um…" She couldn't even think of a proper response.

"You're right." Tom was moving dangerously close to her, and Hermione found there was nowhere to move. "This is not the time for words, but for _actions!_"

So, Hermione found herself trapped in an intense make-out session with Tom Riddle, which really wasn't such a bad predicament, she reminded herself.

"_Marry me_," he whispered.

"_WHAT?_" She screeched, backing away.

Tom gave her a strange look. "I asked, 'are you hungry?'"

Hermione's eyes were still the size of saucers, and she really didn't know which time she found worse.

* * *

In a darkened room, lightning flashed outside as spooky music filtered in from the string quintet hired for the occasion. Abraxas Malfoy descended the stairs dressed all in black and green, a long cape slung over one arm to partially hide his face.

The lightning crackled again, and Abraxas let out a maniacal laugh in time to the boom of thunder.

"Soon," he breathed. "Soon my plan will finally be complete!"

Pollux Black came bumbling behind Abraxas, cowering in fear whenever he got close enough to the blond's shadow. "What plan, Abraxas? What are we going to do now?"

"The same thing we do every day," he intoned. "Try to take over the _world!_"

He laughed again; the evil laughter never got old.

"But Abraxas," Pollux whined. "We do that _every day_. Surely it gets a little…boring?"

He flinched at Abraxas' ice-like glare. "Are you _questioning_ me, Pollux? Because _I _am now the leader of the Death Eaters now that Tom Riddle has decided to ingratiate himself with that odd but intriguingly beautiful transfer student…oh, what was the name?"

"The Wazlib one?" Pollux offered helpfully.

"No! Hermione Granger! That was it!" Abraxas decided. "How interesting that on the night of my ascension to power _one_ mysterious transfer student—"

"…three…" Pollux interjected softly.

"—arrives to Hogwarts!" Abraxas finished, clenching one fist in the air dramatically.

"But…" Pollux trailed off, confused. "_Why_ exactly _are_ you trying to take over the world?"

Abraxas' fury was unparalleled. "Are you _insinuating_ that I need a _motive_ to rule Hogwarts!" He screamed, his face an unattractive shade of purple in his rage.

"No, of _course_ not, Abraxas!" Pollux was quick to say. "You don't need a motive to do anything, forgive me for asking."

Calmed, Abraxas nodded curtly. "You are forgiven, my loyal minion. Now that I have taken over Hogwarts as its Dark Leader, what else should we do?"

Pollux couldn't decide whether the question was rhetorical or not. "Well…what would_ you_ like to do, Abraxas?"

He paused, stroking his chin in thought before leaning on the banister behind him. "I have been giving a lot of thought to my future lately. Of course, I am going to be needing a heir, and just yesterday I thought of the _perfect_ name for my baby girl."

Pollux frowned. "Shouldn't you be looking for the mother first?"

Abraxas waved him away. "Luscious. Isn't that such a pretty name? It's _perfect_!"

"Abraxas, I really think we should focus more on, umm, Death Eater business," Pollux hedged. Plus, the mental image of Abraxas as a father was more than slightly creepy.

Abraxas brightened, snapping one finger in the air. "Pollux! I just had the best idea!"

"What is it?" He asked wearily.

"We need to…_officially_ get the support of the rest of the Death Eaters!" Abraxas replied. "We'll call a meeting for tomorrow. I'll use my _amazing_ oratorical skills"—he chuckled at himself in a false display of modesty—"to further convince them all of Tom Riddle's inability to rule with a proper level of depravity."

"Anything else?" Pollux asked.

"MAKE ME A SANDWICH!" Abraxas ordered.

**End.**

_NEXT TIME, ON 'THE CLICHÉ WAY'…_

* * *

"_I'm having a baby," she told him. "And _you're_ the father!"_

* * *

"_Abraxas," Tom spoke with deadly intent. "You think you can usurp power from me? Face the truth—you can never be as badass as me. NEVER!"_

* * *

_Hermione was sure there was a certain Green Day song that perfectly corresponded to her feelings of depression and angst…_

* * *

"_So," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "This year I've decided to have a school play! Auditions start NOW!" _

* * *

"_Damnit, Pollux!" Abraxas yelled. "I said no mayo on that sandwich!"_

* * *

_FLASHBACK_

"_I'm having a baby," she told him. "And _you're_ the father!"_

_END FLASHBACK_

* * *

_Tom's voice was deadly serious. "Hermione, come to the Halloween/Christmas/Tuesday formal ball with me."_

* * *

"_Hermione," Dumbledore said happily. "I've found a way to return you to your time!"_

* * *

"_Cut the green wire," Hermione whispered into the radio, freezing in shock as Ron's response filtered back: "They're ALL green wires!"_

* * *

"_I'm having a baby," Harry told her. "And _you're_ the…oh, crap."_

* * *

"_Get those spiders away from me!" Ron shrieked._

* * *

_AND, in the greatest surprise plot-twist ever, one of our beloved characters will not be returning to the next episode…_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_Just WHO will die? WHO is Hermione's baby's daddy? (It's not Abraxas, don't worry) WHO will get the lead role in the school play? Will the characters eventually need to eat?_

_All these, and more, answered on the _next '_The Cliché Way.'_

* * *

A/N: Oh, I even amuse myself sometimes xD I hope you all are liking these, I'm surprised at how long they're turning out to be, but I suppose that's a good thing, right?

Of course I have to give a shout-out to the other fabulous HG/TR parodies by JellyBellys and Nerys and Ssserpensssotia, who inspired me to attempt my own.

Because this was just so much fun, there might be a "Cliché Way Part II" in the works as a later one-shot, although that one would be more of an intellectual parody on the absolute fallacy behind most time-travel conventions. I need to get that rant out there somehow xD

As always, if you liked this, please leave me a review! Seriously, I work hard being this funny! It's not as easy as it looks! …or reads!

Next one-shot will be a dark-ish postwar AU. Look out for it!

Love, Kako


	4. You Know My Name

Four Seasons of You and Me

A/N: I know, I know, tough act to follow. Thanks to everyone who dared to comment on my wonderful parody: Sakura Takanouchi, seo127, NightRaven13, Madame Dee, Morbid DramaQueen10, 0Rosina0, Coco96, xXTwilight PrincessXx, My Misguided Fairytale, and that beautiful authoress. You all know the one xD What parody would it have been if I didn't review on my own story? Yeah, don't answer that xD

_Number Four) Post-War AU HG/LV_

_Genre: Angst/Tragedy_

_Rating: T_

Notes: Overall plot for this might be semi-cliché, but the whole "Hermione-becomes-Voldemort's-prisoner" plot is just too entertaining a read for me not to try to write my own spin on it. This is dark-_ish_, but nothing too extreme. This is also inspired by Chris Cornell's song "You Know My Name"—I really think it describes Voldemort well. This was also written a while ago around mid-summer, but I decided to dredge it out of my MSWord graveyard and revise it a little for you all to read. Enjoy!

Much love to the beta, **Sakura Takanouchi**.

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_You Know My Name_

Hermione screamed as Harry's lifeless body hit the ground; this _could _not, this _was not_ _happening! _He was supposed to be the Boy-Who-Lived, they were not supposed to lose, and she could only watch in morbid anticipation and dread as the work of years on their side was undone in the space of a single second, and their years of work seen to fruition.

She ran; how could she not? Not to hide, but to _protect_—the younger children were still in the castle, being led out through the Room of Requirement over the course of the battle. She did not know how many were left, but she knew they would need protection above all. She dodged a hex, firing her own back at Death Eaters who tried to stand in her way.

She didn't know who she was fighting; she didn't even know what was happening to the others around her. The call was given to retreat, that much she heard behind her. Bodies were dropping around her, and Hermione hoped that her friends still retained their lives. She felt guilty for wanting _hers_ so badly after what had just happened; she knew the seriousness of this battle, she knew that it was war, but she still wanted to _live_.

She had seen _him_, when Harry had fallen in battle. She didn't even need to name him in her mind; for there was only one person who she regarded with such anger and hate she didn't even know she was capable of feeling. She lashed out with those feelings, daring anyone else to be happy when she felt so miserable and alone herself.

Her back was to him; she did not see him smile as he acknowledged her hate.

_If you take a life  
Do you know what you'll give?  
Odds are you won't like what it is._

He had been with the infinite hole next to his heart for so long that he no longer noticed how much deeper it grew with every passing moment. Every soul his own destroyed made the void grow larger and larger. And the souls he couldn't seem to destroy by conventional means—well, those were the challenges.

He felt such _satisfaction_ when his curse hit its target, such _pleasure_ in knowing that his kingdom; no, his _empire_ was about to be born. He would finally have everything he felt he so rightly _deserved_.

Lord Voldemort had won; he had everything.

All except for one stubborn girl who refused the darkness. _But even she was not above the temptation_.

She was Muggle-born, kept in the dungeons beneath the mansion with the others of her status. She had been captured while trying to shield a younger child outside of Hogwarts. The child's fate was inescapable, as was hers. The child had died, and she had been thrown to the dungeons, enduring the customary rounds of torture as the Death Eaters decided what to do with her and the others.

It didn't matter what she had been before the balance of power had finally toppled over on the world, now she had nothing; she _was_ nothing.

Such promise, such misappropriation, such a _waste_.

_When the storm arrives  
Would you be seen with me?  
By the merciless eyes I've decieved._

Hermione screamed as yet another Cruciatus curse was flung at her—she did not know by whom, and she really didn't care. This Death Eater was obviously practiced at it, and she assumed it was one of the ones who had survived the final battle when so many of the dark side's key supporters had fallen.

She bit back her next scream, all thoughts leaving her brain as the pain intensified as a renewed jolt of magic flew through her body.

_Pain_.

Their new regime was built solely on pain, she recognized in the torture-induced haze. It was all they knew; it was all they could give. Voldemort himself, she realized, probably had a lifetime of pain that he felt he deserved to thrust upon the world. She felt a stab of pity for that man, if he even _was_ a man anymore, to have never known so many of the joys she had experienced daily and yet now realized she took for granted. Little experiences like being given a present or being served her favorite meal, to big joys like celebrating a birthday or having a family.

She felt instant relief and confusion as the curse left her, only to be replaced with a growing fear of dread at the collective gasps from the few people in the giant darkened hall that Voldemort used as a combination reception hall and throne room. When guests came to be presented, Hermione thought wryly, their loyalty was all but secure when they watched the torture of those who _hadn't_ chosen that path.

Her neck craned upwards as she sought to pull herself from off of the floor. It was dirty, but not from a lack of use; hardly, the room was used so often that Hermione kept track of time by the screams she heard from the dungeons as each prisoner was dragged to the main hall, and dragged back nearly an hour or more later. They tired of prisoners quickly, Hermione noticed. She supposed torturing would only do so much for entertainment, as nearly everyone reacted the same way. She hoped for death.

Her eyes widened slightly, but her mouth held a flash of a smile. _Here it comes, the proffered wish_, she thought, finally seeing _his_ face up close for the first time.

Again, she needed no specification in her mind; there could only be one _him_. She almost took back her earlier thoughts, that day on the battlefield, for how could she hate someone who was about to deliver to her what she so greatly desired most? She was alone; she knew not how many others from her year or from the Order were left alive, and if any were she did not see them. She remembered Ron's fate; as purebloods his family was offered the chance to return to the '_right_' side, or face public execution as common criminals. She knew Ron's fear of death, a fear she had so recently held in common, but knew that his principles and pride could never let him verbally accept, and before he could even utter one curse or denunciation of the dark side the light had left his eyes forever.

Hermione was jealous of him now; there was nothing left for her here. She was so _young_, not even technically finished with her last year of school, and already she could see the path of the rest of her probably short life. There was so much she had yet to experience, so much time she had yet to live! It wasn't fair!

_He_ loomed over her, intimidating and daunting, his posture and the way he held his wand out at his side visible in the dim lighting at the high ceilings of the hall.

Voldemort matched her ghost of a smile with a crooked smirk of his own. He knew who was lying on the ground before him, her eyes turned upwards towards him, not even any tear tracks running down her dirt-streaked face.

Her pity repulsed him—he thought he would kill her just for that, and make an example of her to the others. _But_, now that he saw her true wishes, he decided that even that simple luxury would be denied to her.

He glimpsed further into her mind, subtly weaving in and out of her thoughts and memories so artfully that she never could have guessed what he did by pure will alone. He knew she was intelligent, and what better way to turn her talents against her by keeping her alive only so she could serve them? It was a much better punishment than just simple physical torture.

Lord Voldemort was, plainly, _anything_ but simple.

The punishment he had designed for Hermione Granger was carefully elaborate, but perfectly condensed; he would force her to fall to his side, and use her mind for their cause. She would become one of them, and the knowledge of that would kill her more surely than any curse or magic could bring about.

Her face was so expectant, he had to laugh. It was hollow sounding to her, and she gazed at him in confusion.

"You will not be granted death today, Miss Granger," he told her, satisfied by the pain in her eyes. "Because that is what you wish for, is it not?" His smirking grin was painfully luminous in the darkness. "Your considerable talents _will_ be put to use."

Her fear was intoxicating to him, and he wanted more of it.

She wanted death, she wanted escape; _It wasn't fair!_

_I've seen angels fall from blinding heights  
But you yourself are nothing so divine.  
Just next in line._

At first she viewed it as a challenge, Hermione recalled as she stirred yet another batch of an intense acid so strong that the cauldron it contained had to be made of pure crystal, the one material that it would not destroy. She had been put to brewing potions first, as the possession of a wand was unnecessary for that particular brand of magic.

She frowned bitterly as she stirred the potion, the crystal stirring rod faceted an unnecessary amount of times so that it spun bits of light onto the walls and around the room as her wrist moved in a clockwise fashion. She hadn't even been restrained, his confidence in her inability to escape so great that she was sure the door was unlocked—not that she'd checked.

If you asked her, she would say that she had died a long time ago: Hermione Granger, the only one left standing. Tarnished. Controlled. A puppet on the strings of a madman who refused to cut them, instead dangling her around the stage, her skills and knowledge on display as he profited from them, knowing that her only other fate was to let her mind atrophy if left in the dungeons to rot. That thought scared her more than anything else Voldemort could ever throw at her, for her brain was the only thing she felt she had left to her that was still completely her own.

And now even that was debatable. She still hated him with all the force she could muster, knowing that somehow, someway he was still controlling her actions, if not forcing the words into her mouth then forcing the actions and circumstance behind the words.

The thoughts of protest flashed briefly through her mind before they were submerged down into the icy depths where she lived in order to stay alive.

_Live_, she scoffed. These days she had only one person to live for.

_Arm yourself because no one else here will save you.  
The odds will betray you  
And I will replace you._

She wasn't even sure how, she wasn't even sure _why_, but she had chosen this fate. Unable to die; they would not kill her.

Once a week she had an audience with Lord Voldemort himself. At first she had shouted at him, blatantly condemning everything his side stood for, hoping to bring his rage so she could finally die. But even that was denied from her.

She was brought into the main hall for the first time since her capitulation, dressed in a simple dark robe, the hood down. He would not allow her to hide her face. He wanted her to bear the shame she so clearly felt at standing aside while fellow prisoners and strangers were tortured and killed. He wanted her to be seen by the torturers themselves, so she could bear their scorn and confusion, hear the rumors and derision swirling about her presence and just _what_ she was to them and to _him_.

_And Lord Voldemort always gets what he wants_, she thought rebelliously. She stood in the shadows just outside of the light shining on the center of the room, the circle of torment where punishments were doled out like the rewards or accolades other Emperors gave their subjects. And _he_ sat at the head of the room in his _throne_, a mass of darkened and weathered bronze, silver, and stone; as intimidating and rough as he was. He saw no need to ornament himself or his regime with flagrant displays of wealth—terror and fear worked just as well, if not better in his eyes.

She watched in stony silence for hours as prisoners were tortured or executed; she could feel his eyes on her, burning into her mind. She refused to look at anyone or anything, instead staring at a spot on the column in front of her, willing herself not to break down until she was allowed to return to her room, a sparse space about the size of an ordinary bathroom. She sat on her bed, craving tears or sobs to prove she was still human, that he hadn't already won. She found nothing, her body already hardened to the systematic abuse her mind had already effectively delivered to her. She wondered what would be taken from her next. What she would unknowingly _give_ up next.

She beat him in chess, catching the approving look in his eyes before she hated herself even more for feeling pleased that she saw it. She had no other contacts, he was all she had. She could feel the power radiating off of him, and it was intoxicating to her. She knew her days of just brewing potions were coming to an end.

_I've seen diamonds cut through harder men  
Then you yourself but if you must pretend  
You may meet your end._

The first time she had been instructed to torture a fellow prisoner, she had tried not to look in their eyes.

But she still did; she wanted to know.

She met the deliberate eyes of Katie Bell—Hermione knew what she wanted, and she would award her the fate that she herself only dreamed for.

And seconds later Katie's dead body lay on the cold floor, her open eyes glancing upwards as if towards her final destination. Hermione smiled.

Her soul never split.

The borrowed wand felt good in her hand, no matter the spell that flowed from it.

She even knew where her old one was. He had shown her, weeks ago.

Taking the vine wood wand from a cabinet on the wall, Voldemort had mockingly waved it through the air so that he was sure she had seen it. Hermione kept her face impassive, not wanting to show any flicker of emotion at seeing her old wand again. It was just one more way he showed his control.

"Do you want it back?" He asked calmly, the way one would ask a child if it wanted some candy, smirking as Hermione's head shot up at his words.

"Of course I do," she replied sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want their original wand? How inane."

He had already put the wand back inside the wooden cupboard, and sealed it with magic. His smirk deepened. "Then prove you've earned it, my dear," he said before his lips crashed down onto hers.

She had no reason to fight; winning would give her nothing.

_Try to hide your hand  
Forget how to feel (forget how to feel)_

__

_Life is gone  
At just a spin of the wheel (spin of the wheel)  
_

"Why do you make me do this?" She asked him once, after he had '_generously_' let her finish off the prisoners that had outlived their usefulness. They had returned to his chambers, his hand clenching her upper arm possessively the entire way. He was angry at her, she could tell, but what for she did not know. She glanced at the unobtrusive wooden cabinet; she had never seen her wand again, and she knew that he'd never give it back to her. It was yet another symbol of how completely he owned her.

"I enjoy watching you kill for me," was his arrogant-sounding response.

Her brows narrowed. "I don't do it for you." _Never for you. I do it for them. _No one would understand her reasoning.

The smirk returned. "As long as you still kill, the reason is unimportant." _Just like him to say that_.

"Kill _me_," she asked; her first request of him.

"No," he responded just as calmly as before.

Hermione's strained eyes fought to hold back tears, the first she had cried in months. She had never even let herself break in the dungeons. "Why?" Her voice cracked.

"You are my prize," he said. "And I do not wish for you to die just yet."

If her lifespan was numbered, she knew not what that number was. Lord Voldemort would never relinquish a prize he felt he had rightfully won. A fallen angel, _two_ fallen angels in hell, and they would sink deeper before ever being allowed to rise to the surface again.

He moved to caress her face lightly with his thin fingers; she was always surprised by their coldness. It was like he could never get warm, and for all the warmth he could steal from others he could never fully cure his own need for it.

Her eyes were pleading; his were dark, cold, and empty.

"Tom," she begged quietly, beseeching him with her eyes. He was dragging her down with him, and she had never wanted death so much.

But even she was not above his wrath. His fingers stopped their mockery of gentleness, his caress turned to stringent fury as his fingers wrapped around her neck, cutting off her air as she gasped for breath. She saw dark spots in front of her eyes; she knew she was close to blacking out.

"_Say it_," he demanded, his face inches from her own. "_What is my name_?"

"_L-Lord Voldemort_," she choked out before he released her, her own hands moving to massage her throat, wincing in pain at the tenderness of the flesh and the purple bruises she knew were already appearing. The blush that stained her cheeks was no longer one of shame, but of sincerity.

He appraised his trophy with satisfaction; he had done his work well.

_The coldest blood runs through my veins.  
You know my name._

**End.**

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A/N: So, how was that? A bit different from my usual fare, but that's to be expected with this collection! See, I can do all kinds of things! –juggles–

So, restating an offer from an earlier chapter: Yes, I do take requests! I've got plans for the next few one-shots, but I've still got quite an ambitious quota to fill! So, if anyone wants me to write something; a particular theme, genre, etc, I will do my best to make it happen!

Up next: some humor and a drabble collection.

You know you want to review!!

Love, Kako


	5. King and Queen's Gambit

From Seasons to Seasons

A/N: A round of applause to everyone who reviewed on Chapter Four! Morbid DramaQueen10, 3rdplanet, xXTwilight PrincessXx, NightRaven13, Sakura Takanouchi, 0Rosina0, Serpent in Red, contagion, My Misguided Fairytale, Coco96, maripas, and Emeloo2. Thanks so much!

_Number Five) Genre Exploration: Magical Realism – HG/TR_

_Rating: T_

_Tag:_ Bad things happen to those who get lost in the Forbidden Forest. Hermione runs into Tom. Apparently, good things can happen, too.

Notes: King's Gambit and Queen's Gambit are opening chess moves, hence the inspiration for the title, so expect many chess-related puns, too. My all-time favorite genre to read and write is magical realism, so I'm happy to be able to give you all some of that. Just the past week I saw the old-school Disney version of _Alice and Wonderland_, and wanted to see what I could do paralleling it with a Wonderland-style time-travel romantic comedy. That being said, expect _extreme_ randomness. And some fluff towards the end, which I'm sure makes up for the randomness.

Magical realism asks the reader to suspend their disbelief while a fantastical, miraculous reality is presented to them alongside a normal, natural reality. Common features of magical realism include a detached sense of time, literal metaphors, and the characters' obliviousness to their reality's incongruity. Just so you know what to expect.

Thanks to my beta, **Sakura Takanouchi**.

Enjoy!

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_King and Queen's Gambit_

It was a normal day; Hermione was finished with classes, and so had returned to her common room, grabbing her thick Charms textbook and curling up on a red armchair, flipping through the pages of the last chapter absently. She had already read it, but figured that she could always use the extra review of the _Homorphus_ Charm.

Something tickled against Hermione's dangling leg; she looked down, seeing her ginger cat Crookshanks purring as he rubbed up against her, and she leaned over the puffy armrest of the chair to scratch him on the head. He purred even more loudly, moving away from her and padding up to the largest window in the common room, turning back towards Hermione with what she could only describe with a laugh as a 'plaintive' expression on his squashed face.

Hermione was alone in the common room with the exception of a few younger students, whispering together in groups closer to the fireplace or the stairs. "Would you like to go out?" She asked Crookshanks; talking to him had become a habit of hers, some days she almost expected him to answer right back.

In response, the cat sauntered back towards her quickly, leaping onto the huge armrest and into her arms, paws slipping as he treaded on the glossy pages of the textbook.

She glanced outside, it was still sunny and it looked warm out. Crookshanks hadn't been outside in days, as far as she knew. She supposed she would get pretty cranky too if she was cooped up indoors for too long.

Hermione gingerly supported both the large cat and her textbook in her arms, setting the book down on a side table as the cat continued to purr contentedly.

She sighed. "Come on, Crookshanks."

She carried the cat down the halls and stairs to the grounds of Hogwarts; she had tried setting Crookshanks down, but his claws had sunk themselves gently into her arm. _Spoiled cat_, she reflected with a resigned grin. He enjoyed being carried.

The warm breeze felt good on her face, and she had to admit that the Hogwarts grounds did look beautiful. She had taken to cloistering herself lately in preparation for her exams, and had yet to appreciate the beauty of all the flowers and greenery that came with spring.

Crookshanks finally relented into being set down, and he proceeded to pounce on a few blowing daisies happily.

Hermione watched the antics of her ginger cat with a laugh, following him as he made a path through the grass on the hills around the formidable foundation of the castle.

The cat seemed unperturbed with its journey, Hermione glancing back as the cat happily bounded towards a large rock, sniffing it with interest as Hermione saw how close they were getting to Hagrid's cabin. He would enjoy a visit, but she wondered how Fang would react to Crookshanks.

_Probably not very favorably_, she reflected, searching the surrounding grass for her cat. It was nearly impossible to lose him as he was so much larger than a normal domestic cat, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She wasn't worried, he had probably just gone around a tree, or gotten inside the fence around Hagrid's house. She would see him any second now.

…_Any _second now.

"Crookshanks?" She called out, knowing that the cat was responsible enough not to _completely_ wander off.

She continued walking around Hagrid's hut, turning her head to look behind the fences and giant vegetables already growing there. Still no Crookshanks.

A flash of movement caught her eye, and she turned just in time to catch sight of the large cat leaping over a fallen tree, heading into the fringes of the Forbidden Forest.

"_Crookshanks_!" She called, immediately running after him without a second's thought. Never mind her earlier supposition about Crookshanks; _that idiotic cat! _

She cast a nervous glance behind her as she followed her cat, seeing him trotting happily through the forest, keeping a slow enough pace so that she could still see him, but quick enough that she would never catch him at her present pace. She jumped over the rock he had previously been perched on, watching him scramble up the hill, disappearing completely from view.

She turned back; the last glimpses of the school grounds just vanished behind the cover of leaves and trees, branches swaying as she considered briefly turning back. Crookshanks couldn't possibly know what was out there, and Hermione had no intention of abandoning her cat to fend for itself in the Forbidden Forest.

So, Hermione charged forward, jumping over rocks and upturned roots as she hurried up the small hill after her cat, pushing past branches and stumbling slightly on the slippery floor the thin covering of leaves provided.

She emerged into a small clearing, a grateful sigh of relief escaping her body as Hermione saw Crookshanks happily sitting on a clear patch of grass, contentedly licking one paw.

"Crookshanks, come on," Hermione said gently, walking to her cat and scooping him up into her arms. She turned around, prepared to calmly walk back to Hogwarts before any of the strange magical creatures in the forest found them, but Hermione instantly froze, scanning the line of trees before her.

_Which way was it? I-It was _that_ tree, I think_.

She made off in the direction of a cluster of trees to her right, stopping after a few steps. _No, that's not right. I came in from the other direction._

_I-I think._

A cold stab of fear began to bloom in Hermione's stomach as Crookshanks wiggled in her arms; she was lost.

_Lost_. In the _Forbidden Forest_.

_Well, I'm sure there are worse things_, Hermione tried to convince herself sensibly, although she was unable to come up with a single one. She thought briefly about sending up some kind of colored sparks from her wand, but decided to save that as a last resort; it would probably bring _other_ Forest residents before help arrived.

The trees seemed to have shifted places again as Hermione turned around quickly, her stomach dropping miles beneath her as she realized just how lost she was. Every tree looked exactly the same to her, and the ones that appeared familiar for just a flash seemed to just as instantly retreat back into the shadows around her, clouding her vision in a dizzying array of confusion.

"Crookshanks, no!" Hermione admonished, struggling to hang on to the wiggling cat, who seemed determined to escape her hold. She couldn't risk the cat running deeper into the forest; that _was_ what had caused this mess, after all.

The trees were swirling around again, and Hermione concentrated on one large oak tree in particular, hardly noticing Crookshank's angry growl as he swiped his claws at her arm, dropping to the ground as gracefully as an animal of his bulk could manage, and taking off in the direction of the tree before them.

"_Crookshanks!"_ Hermione's eyes fell to the small scratches in her left arm, and when she lifted her head, she barely caught sight of her cat's back paws and tail vanish into a crevice in the base of the oak tree.

Hermione ran to the tree, kneeling down as she craned her neck to look into the large hole. She couldn't see any sign of her cat—_how deep does this thing go?_

She called her cat's name again; the sound seemed almost to reverberate off of the inside of the gap.

_Wonderful_, she thought sarcastically. If she had to go in there after that cat…

She considered just casting an '_accio Crookshanks_,' but figured that the cat's anger at being wrenched from its hidey-hole would most likely be directed back at her; after all, would _she_ like to be summoned out of bed in the morning as an alarm clock alternative?

She gritted her teeth, peering further into the gap. She could _probably_ fit in there, but she felt not even a _slight_ inclination to try. Crawling underneath the upturned roots of a tree ranked only slightly lower on Hermione's list of options than standing before the tree and waiting for Crookshanks to crawl back out.

"_Crookshanks!_" She hissed again, frowning in irritation upon hearing the far-off sound of one of her cat's meows. Maybe he was stuck in there?

_I can't _believe_ I'm actually doing this_, Hermione thought as the walls of earth and twisted roots rose up on either side of her as she wriggled under the tree on her hands and knees. She could barely see in front of her, but continued to call out her cat's name.

In lieu of vision, she concentrated on the feel of the earth beneath her hands to tell where to go. It never really occurred to her that the space under this tree was so big—

Her hands plunged downwards at the sudden drop-off, and Hermione felt her body pitch forward, her stomach dropping miles beneath her as she tensed and adrenaline filled her body as she fell. Her hands still jerked around her as she awaited impact, but the air felt smooth around her body as she fell, not whistling with the force of her gravity like she'd expected.

She had no idea what was happening, but she knew magic was involved. She reached in her pocket, pulling out her wand, her fingers shaking as she tried to decide on what spell to cast.

"_L-lumos!_" Hermione spoke, watching the tip of her wand light itself with rapt attention. The space around her looked dark and constant, and as she held out one arm she was unable to touch the dirt walls she assumed were around her. It was like she was just falling through empty space.

Her wand hand trembled further as she looked down, seeing nothing identifiable below her. She tried to turn to the side, her body turning unwillingly as her fingers twitched, the wand spiraling out of her hand with a belated "_Oh!_" as she sought to catch it, her fingers twisting on air as she watched it fall, seeing the small light blinking on the ground—she _supposed_ it was ground—below her with some relief.

She finally caught up with the soft light, puzzled further by the fact that it seemed to be almost _floating_ in midair, as if waiting for her. She grabbed it, wondering just _what_ was going on around her, and what sort of magic was being used in this place. She knew the Forbidden Forest was powerful, but she had no idea it was this _strange_.

Before she had even noticed it, her feet were planted firmly on what felt like solid ground, but when she held the light down to her feet she saw what appeared to be old dirt-streaked stone flooring, with tiles laid out in black and white squares each about as large as a normal-sized rug, seemingly spread out all around her. It was still dark, presumably by the fact that they were underground, and Hermione looked up, not even sure what she was looking for, but any light from the small gap she had crawled in was unable to be seen.

She looked around her and decided to walk forward, feet tapping on the ground dully, none of the sound echoing like it had in the small tunnel.

"_Crookshanks_?" She called out wearily; the sound seemed deadened. If it was lighter she could look for footprints in the dirt or dust, but she could barely see the ground in front of her. It was amazing how effective her surroundings were at coloring their occupants to resemble themselves in mood, as Hermione began to feel more and more dismayed the more she walked, until putting one foot in front of the other seemed like moving weights. She stopped.

Hermione sighed, briefly thinking about sitting down and just waiting for someone to find her, but she doubted anyone would ever think of looking for her _there_. Besides, Crookshanks was out there somewhere, and Hermione figured the cat was just as lost as Hermione felt. She glanced down at the black-colored square beneath her feet, extending a yard's distance all around her, almost pulling at her feet to keep her in the gloomy depression its color suggested.

Her wand was still lit, and Hermione had to look twice to confirm that what she thought she saw was actually real.

It was a _wall_ of dirtied brick, rising as far as she could see (which wasn't really that far) and wrapping around the boundary of squares to her left, as far as she could see (again, not that far). She raced to it, skimming her fingers over the surface, scrabbling in the gaps left by missing mortar as she searched for a hole, a latch, a doorknob, _anything_!

She got her wish; fingers found a doorknob, and Hermione could hardly believe her luck as she pulled on it, the cold metal feeling blissfully comforting in her hands. One hand left the doorknob, searching for the accompanying grooves of a doorframe. She wrenched the doorknob again, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction as she felt the section of wall around it move, pulling further as first mere centimeters of light began to flow in from the outside surroundings, then more as the door creaked open the rest of the way.

The light flooded in, and Hermione felt oddly disoriented as she was momentarily blinded after becoming so used to the darker shade of the underground cavern. She wondered where the light was coming from.

She blinked, her pupils contracting from the light as she gazed with mixed shock upon the scene before her. After everything she'd experienced in her life, Hermione had thought that _nothing_ could shock her now, but her hanging jaw said otherwise.

The bright green of a giant hedge rose up before her, almost jolting in its vibrancy, conveying an almost exact reverse to the cavern she was currently standing in. It seemed so bleak, robbed of all its colors, while the explosive land on the other side of the wall selfishly flaunted its bequests.

Hermione studied the worn wall one more time before stepping through.

She found that she could not look back at the desolate fissure behind her, so kept going, walking nervously across the smooth grass covering the ground. The hedges stretched on for what seemed like miles in every direction, stopping just a few feet above Hermione's head.

She looked up briefly, wondering just why it had taken her so long to realize the strangest thing about this odd place.

She could see sky.

Blue, cloudless sky.

Somehow there was _sky_ when she had just been _underground_.

Hermione found that hard to believe, but she hadn't thought that far ahead yet of just _where_ she was—a hidden hedge maze inside the Forbidden Forest seemed a bit too cheery for its reputation, she thought. She didn't even _want_ to think about how she was going to get out of there once she recovered Crookshanks.

Hermione walked further down one lane bordered by the hedges, surprised when, after less than a minute of walking, two more lanes opened up on either side. She could see more of the twisting openings the two paths provided, and she instantly realized what this strange place was.

_It's a maze! _She thought with certainty. She wondered which path to take, finally deciding just to keep walking straight. She paused, before using her wand to mark the grass behind her with a color-change charm, turning a large square of the green grass a brilliant blue color.

_Not quite breadcrumbs, but it will have to do_, she thought with a smile.

She kept walking, periodically changing the color of sections of grass in case she had to find her way back to that cave. She wasn't sure if that was the only way out; if the clear sky was any indication, she could always leave through the air, although even just the _thought_ of flying always made Hermione feel slightly queasy.

She kept walking, humming softly to herself for several minutes before realizing that she was in fact humming along to a tune so quiet it was barely audible, coming from voices—for when she stopped to listen to the sound she could sense that it was the combination of multiple voices rather than just one—coming from somewhere further on in the maze to her right.

She was sure she wasn't _imagining_ the sound, but even so, this maze was beginning to piss her off—she raised her wand, gave the hedge before her a meaningful grimace, and proceeded to blow through it with a wonderfully satisfying _Confringo_ curse.

Her curse had the desired effect, blowing through not one but at least five of the unnaturally green hedges, and Hermione noticed the humming had stopped, but as she lowered her wand she saw three heads poke their way out from behind the third hole her spell had created.

All three were male; one was blond, and the other two had dark black hair. She could hear them whispering amongst each other, rolling her eyes. They certainly weren't _trying_ to keep quiet.

"Hmm, we're lucky that wasn't a few feet to the right, eh, Abraxas?" One of the black-haired ones joked, elbowing the blonde so that he staggered out into the empty space in the hedge. He looked at it, horrified.

"Do you _realize_ what that idiot girl just did? The king is going to _kill_ us," the blonde answered as he ran one hand over the ragged edges of the hedge. All three seemed not to notice as Hermione approached them, until the only thing that separated them was the broken edge of the hedge.

"Um, excuse me?" She asked, trying to make sense of their words. From the way the blonde spoke, she believed that he didn't mean "kill us" in a popular context at all, but literally from the way he pulled a pair of clippers from one pocket, haphazardly chopping off more sections in an attempt to make it uniform.

"Cygnus, that looks like it's always been there, right?" He asked worriedly, looking mildly surprised as he turned to the other side only to find Hermione there blocking his way.

"Could you move?" He asked her, holding the sharp hedge-clippers in both hands as if to force her if she refused. "You've done enough _damage_ here already." He sounded irritated.

Hermione complied, stepping over to the same side as the other two men while the blonde attacked the other hedge, trimming it into as neat a line as he could. Hermione had to laugh at the futility of their actions; hadn't they noticed that the clippings just ended up on the ground? Why would someone believe it had always been there?

"May I ask what you are doing?" Hermione asked, turning to one of the black-haired ones; by their similarity, she assumed they were brothers.

"Yes," the taller one answered neatly as he and his brother returned to a tree behind them, the green contrasting sharply with the brilliantly red roses blooming amidst the foliage.

Hermione waited for an answer, following them both back to the tree with her hands on her hips.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me?" She asked, staring incredulously as they began to slowly use the same color-changing charm Hermione herself had applied on the red flowers, turning them the same green as the leaves.

"Tell you what?" He answered cheerfully, as if completely unaware of Hermione's growing wrath.

"_What you are doing!_" She growled angrily.

He turned back to her. "Well, you never asked that question."

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "_What_ are you _doing_?" She asked, her teeth gritted as she anticipated his answer.

"Painting the flowers, can't you see that?"

This time the answer came from the blond, who had returned to join the group, absently changing the color of a rose near the bottom of the tree.

"Abraxas, she asked _me_," the other one whined. He leaned in towards Hermione, whispering conspiratorially, "we're painting the flowers green. Just pretend you didn't hear _him_."

Hermione would have laughed, if not for the inanity of the situation. "I can see that," she answered shortly. "But _why_?"

"It's _his_ fault anyways," Abraxas told the other black-haired one. "Alphard _forgot_ how much the King hates red."

The one called Alphard ignored the others' comments. "Good question," he told Hermione, nodding in satisfaction. "We're painting the roses green because the King hates the color red, and only permits green things in the kingdom." He turned to the others. "But _I _like red. I can't see why I can't have a red rosebush here and there." He gestured to the long lane on either side of them, where Hermione could see dozens of red-rosed trees in a perfect row.

_Here and there?_ She thought. _This _place _is neither here nor there_. _And don't roses grow on bushes?_

"Can you tell me where—" She stopped, rethinking her question. "Where am I?"

Alphard grinned at her ignorance. "Technically, you're in the _maze_." He stopped Hermione's outburst, quickly clarifying, "but the maze is in the kingdom."

Hermione stuttered, trying to make sense of this. Was she in some kind of strange wizarding _commune_ inside the Forbidden Forest?

"Alphard, how many of these things did you plant?" his brother asked.

"Why, forty of them, Cygnus," Alphard responded cheerily, turning a few of the flowers at the top green with a flick of his wand.

"How do I get out of here?" Hermione asked, directing her question to all three even as both Abraxas and Cygnus seemed to be ignoring her in their pursuit of covering up the red roses to match the surrounding leaves.

"Why, through the maze, of course," Abraxas answered. He turned back to Cygnus. "Seriously, who let this idiot girl in here?"

Hermione wanted to either scream or hex them all with something extremely painful. She was making up her mind between the Bat-Bogey hex and the Furnunculus Curse, and deciding which of the tree men in front of her to cast them on first.

"I've been _in_ this maze for _hours_." It took a great amount of Hermione's willpower to keep her voice below shouting levels. "I want to know where the exit is. I came in over _there_." She waved somewhere behind her, in the general direction of where she hoped the cavern was.

"Oh, _really?_" Alphard seemed genuinely surprised. "Well, then, I suppose you should go to the _castle_."

Hermione was getting sick of all this misdirection and stalling, and had finally settled on the Furnunculus Curse when a sudden loud trumpeting fanfare cut through the air, and panicked expressions instantly appeared on all three faces around her. Hermione herself was surprised by the noise, craning her neck to see just _where_ it was coming from and just _what_ it meant.

"The _King!_" Abraxas' face was paler than Hermione thought possible, but Alphard simply elbowed his companion in the stomach. "I've heard that he plays the fanfare sometimes just to scare us into thinking he's coming," he whispered.

Hermione snorted at Alphard's joke, curious herself about the leader of these…her mind couldn't come up with a suitable description for the motley crew around her, but if their King was anything like these three, then negotiations to finding her way home might be extremely difficult.

Alphard' face fell at the appearance of a group of people shrouded in completely black robes and face-concealing masks, which after squinting Hermione realized were in the shape of skulls. Hermione counted at least a dozen, her confusion growing at the obviously fearful reaction the three men at her side had to their arrival.

"Looks like you'll get your wish," Alphard whispered to Hermione as the black-clad group approached them. "They'll probably take us to the castle."

"I've heard the view is good from the gallows platform," Abraxas moaned, literally shaking in fear. Hermione had to wonder just from _whom_ he had heard that. _The executioner? _Not a pleasant thought.

"Cygnus and Alphard Black. Abraxas Malfoy," the leader of the black-clad battalion intoned, several of the soldiers stepping out of the group to restrain the three. "You are all charged with the willful possession of," he paused, "_forty_ rose-trees and the attempted concealment of these"—another pause—"_forty_ rose-trees. You plead guilty, and will be taken to the King for judgement."

After finishing, he finally noticed Hermione. "And who are you?"

She gulped. "Hermione Granger, sir. I would like to meet your King as well."

The masked leader turned his head to the side, eventually shrugging indifferently. "Follow us."

Hermione walked behind the procession leading up the large path, flanked by trees half-covered in green and red roses like a broken strand of Christmas lights. It would have almost been funny, she reflected, that they took such ridiculous things seriously, but it appeared that the punishment for disobeying that particular rule was going to be severe.

Hermione was worried; sure, she had just met Abraxas, Cygnus, and Alphard, but they hardly deserved, well, _prison_ or _execution_ for a few—_well, hardly a few_, she amended—red roses!

She wondered if she could make an appeal to their king on their behalf. Certainly this whole thing was just a simple misunderstanding?

As they neared the castle, Hermione had to wonder just how she had never noticed something like this before. The thought that a castle of this magnitude—that looked strangely like Hogwarts to Hermione—could remain hidden in the Forbidden Forest this long seemed unlikely, even to her. Everything about it was intimidating, imposing, and pompous in the extreme amount of waving green flags, each with a symbol Hermione recognized all too well.

_Snakes? The…it's the Slytherin flag!_ She realized with a start.

_Well, _that_ little development sure makes a lot of sense_, Hermione thought wryly. The castle loomed over them as they entered the main courtyard, Hermione's breath catching upon seeing the main centerpiece of the room.

The _giant_ throne.

_Typical Slytherin_, she noticed. The thing was literally half the size of the courtyard, and seemed to be wrought entirely from silver and ornamented with an obscene amount of precious stones. Then her eyes traveled upwards, and she wondered just _how_ she had missed the man lounging in the throne.

He was sprawled in his throne elegantly, perfectly, somehow managing to make the giant contraption around him look comfortable. He turned his head, the sunlight accenting his flawless skin, and raised one perfect eyebrow slowly as their eyes met.

"Milord, these three were caught in—" The leader of the guard spoke, but was cut off by a small wave of the king's hand.

"Take them away," he said airily, leaning back against the throne. To the casual observer it would appear that he was looking at the sky above them, but Hermione knew that he was still observing her out of the corner of his eyes.

"Milord," the masked guard started again reluctantly, but silenced immediately when the king's piercing glare cut through the air in his direction. Grudgingly he directed the three prisoners out; Hermione followed them with her eyes, unable to mask the worry appearing on her face at their fate.

"You."

Hermione's head turned back so quickly that she felt the stinging pain of whiplash. The man in the throne had crooked a finger towards her, and Hermione felt her feet carry her forward as she approached the throne.

His finger relaxed; Hermione instinctively stopped.

"Speak," he told her casually, leaning back in the throne as his hand dropped to pet the ginger cat in his lap.

_Wait a moment! Cat! Crookshanks!_

Hermione could hardly believe it. She could even hear the cat _purring_.

_Traitorous cat_, she grumbled.

"My name is Hermione Granger," she told him. "So, you are the King?" She winced at her choice of opener. _Of _course_ he's the king, Hermione!_

"Some call me the King of Hearts," he winked at her suggestively.

Hermione was left to remember how to close her mouth as the King continued to pet Crookshanks slowly, tickling the cat behind his ears.

"What are you doing here?" He prompted, an amused grin stretching across his face as he watched Hermione's discomfort.

"I'm lost," she told him. "I'm trying to find my way out, and I figured you could…" she trailed off at the dismissing wave of his hand.

"My dear, _your_ way?" He reprimanded her, his voice dangerously soft. "You won't get very far with _that_ attitude, I assure you. _All_ ways are _my_ way."

Hermione was still completely bewildered, but refused to let even their king evade her questions about how to return to her home.

"Well, then, tell me how to leave here and give me back _my_ cat, and I won't bother you any longer," she reasoned. Surely these people would want nothing more than to be left alone to their confusing, backwards, mixed-up ways?

"_Your _cat? I suppose since everything is _yours_ now," he stated sarcastically, "what will it be next, hmm? This castle? The cutlery? The _carpet?_"

_Why would someone have carpet outside? _Hermione glanced down; sure enough, a black-and-white checkered carpet lay underneath her feet. One foot rested in a black square, one in white. She moved over, planting both feet firmly in the white square. The king noticed her movements.

"You prefer white?" He asked. "It moves first, you know," he grinned his razor-sharp grin at her, and Hermione got the feeling that she was missing some kind of hidden joke.

Hermione decided that if _he_ wasn't going to answer any of _her_ questions, she could at least answer his to set a good example. "I don't _want_ any of those things," she told him. "And I don't know what you're talking about. Chess?" She guessed, surveying the room again. All of the black-uniformed guards had left, and she realized that she was alone in the courtyard with the king. He straightened up in his throne, tossing her another smirk.

"But of course." He continued to pet Crookshanks lazily.

"Is that all that anyone does around here?" She muttered sarcastically, but the king interpreted it as a real question, rather than rhetorical.

"But of course," he repeated, amused. "Did you think we played croquet?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she took a step to the side. The king's continuous staring and ridiculous manners were starting to unnerve her even more than she'd care to admit.

"Of course not," she answered pointedly. "I know _nothing_ about this place."

Her statement seemed to offend the king, who stood up immediately, in the process dumping an angry Crookshanks to the ground.

"I will give you a tour," he told her. "Please forgive me for being so discourteous."

He took a step towards her, the angry cat running around his legs and trotting off towards a large open arched doorway, disappearing from sight in a matter of seconds. "Crookshanks!" She called after her cat, running a few steps as if to go after him, but changed her mind and turned back to the king. It would be rude to run away from him, after he had generously offered her a tour. _One that would hopefully end at the exit_, she wished.

The king closed the rest of the distance between them, and Hermione instinctively moved back. Her movements cause a wry smirk to grow on the king's face as he stepped closer still, until they occupied the same square. He raised one hand to cup her chin, turning it up so that she had no choice but to meet his gaze.

"By your movements, you must be a queen," he told her, chuckling to himself.

"I don't play chess," she argued stubbornly.

"Your complete lack of strategy proves that," he agreed. "I have just won."

Hermione found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the seriousness in his dark eyes and found herself missing the feel of his fingers on her skin as he dropped his hand.

"I wasn't aware we were playing," Hermione maintained, becoming even more puzzled at the king's continued laughter.

"We weren't," he confirmed. "But either way, I still win." He grinned again. "I always win."

Hermione didn't think there had been one moment spent in this place where she wasn't _completely_ confused at the strange behavior of everyone around her.

"What exactly did you win?" She asked, feeling a stab of worry flutter in her stomach when he turned that predatory grin on her.

"Why, I win the queen, of course," he told her; again Hermione was only too keenly aware of how dangerously close the two were. He leaned in, his lips hovering inches away from her own. Their eyes were still locked, and Hermione was the first to look away.

When he moved away, Hermione felt that same sense of loss at his presence. Her breathing had quickened, and she wondered if she looked as flustered as she felt.

"I-I thought…" she trailed off, too stunned to finish the sentence.

"You thought I was going to kiss you?" He finished summarily, taking Hermione's flustered silence as confirmation.

"Would you like me to?" He offered, the caress of his voice _almost_ making her forget reason as she leaned in to his touch, almost giving in.

His words finally registered and she stepped backwards, out of the confines of the colored carpet squares.

"_What?_" She screeched. "I don't even _know_ your _name_," she argued.

"Hmm, I had forgotten that?" He asked absently, not put off at all by her outburst. "It's Tom, by the way. Tom Riddle."

Hermione's instant incredulous laugh seemed not to affect him either. She wondered just how much more madness this strange place could provide. _Him_…_but Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort! Not…_this!_ It's impossible_. She laughed again, not even noticing that he had gathered her into his arms again.

"What is so funny?" He asked, his breath sending shivers down her spine as he kissed her neck, slowly.

"Y-you. You can't be Tom Riddle." Hermione found it difficult to say anything, considering the circumstances. Her jet-lagged mind had still to realize just what Tom meant when he said he'd '_won the queen_.'

"But I am," he told her seriously. "Now, if that is your only concession…?" He trailed off, letting another smirk grace his lips.

Hermione still regained some scrap of sense. "No," she argued weakly.

"I don't _care_," Tom whispered before silencing her with a searing kiss.

Hermione hadn't thought there had been one moment there without confusion.

She found her moment.

It didn't matter that this crazy nonsense world of Slytherins and monarchy existed. It didn't matter that the man she was currently kissing called himself Tom Riddle. It didn't matter that he was crazy, and that she might be joining him shortly.

What Hermione realized, quite frankly, was that none of it mattered. Just from their simple connection, she realized that she had never felt more energized. It was like Tom had somehow ignited a spark deep within her chest, and the more she got of him the more she wanted.

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling them both even closer together. Tom seemed to have no problem with this, settling his own hands around her waist.

In that simple moment of connection, Hermione felt at home. It felt _right_, being in his arms—said arms tightened around her further, and Hermione had to wonder if he would ever _let_ her leave them, if the almost hungry urgency in his kisses was any indication.

They broke apart, but Tom did not give her much time to catch her breath before kissing her again; she could hear him groan as she began to move her fingers through his hair. Just being with Tom…it felt too _perfect_ to be real.

For that moment, she even forgot where she was; what was waiting for her back at Hogwarts; that she out of the corner of her eye she could see her cat chasing a very large dormouse back into the maze—_cat! Crookshanks!_

Hermione tore herself away, feeling slightly guilty at the disgruntled expression on Tom's face.

"Sorry," she gasped. "My cat…I've got to find him!" She raced off after the large ginger cat and the surprisingly fast mouse, her face still burning when thinking about how easily she had given in to him.

"Hermione!" Tom called after her, his own face shadowed with rage that she had simply run away from him like that. "Who's more important—_me_ or that _cat!_"

He never got an answer; by that time she was already out of earshot. Tom was even more irritated—he had finally found his queen, and the first thing she did was run away from him.

_That certainly will not do_, he thought, summoning two black-clad guards from the castle entrance with a flick of his hand. "Go after her," he told them. "Bring her back to _me_."

The two guards remained silent, leaving the king's side to carry out his orders.

Tom grew slightly uneasy as he surveyed his maze, the red-tipped rose-trees still visible from the castle front. He could barely see the edges of the maze from there, but he knew there was always still a slight possibility Hermione could find her way out. She was very clever like that, after all.

Tom frowned. The rooks were making good progress, but he would have to go in after her. _If you want something done right, do it yourself_. And who better knew the maze than its king?

* * *

Hermione barely kept track of the vibrant green hedges whizzing past her; she made no move to mark her progress this time, such was her hurry to recover her cat. Crookshanks seemed oblivious to her calls, using his seemingly boundless energy in his own cat-and-mouse game.

The cat bolted to his right through an opening in the hedge; Hermione barely had time to spin around before the cat charged back towards her, the dead-end giving the mouse time to sneak past her left leg—the cat took no notice of it, running straight under her foot even as Hermione tried to move over to avoid the collision.

Hermione severely underestimated her balance, and found herself tripping over something—either her cat or her own feet, she wasn't sure—and before she knew it her eyes faced the brilliant blue of the sky before the ground rushed up to collide with her head heavily, the resulting shock running through her entire body as she felt blackness creep into the corners of her eyes. She could barely turn her head, but saw a concerned Tom come into her vision before she blacked out completely.

* * *

Hermione saw herself shrouded in red and gold; back in the Gryffindor common room. She had Crookshanks in her lap, his heavy bulk lying over one of her arms—she knew that the arm would be asleep when she woke up. She was sleeping; it looked just like how Hermione felt at that moment. She wanted to wake up, but she didn't know which was asleep and which was reality. She finally realized that she didn't even know where she _was_, she just knew it was very dark, and very warm.

She opened her eyes, struggling with the sensation of having a completely different set of images before her eyes. Instead of seeing herself contentedly asleep, she was lying in an extremely comfortable bed. The room was fairly dark, lit only by a roaring fireplace in the corner.

A clinking of china drew her attention; it hurt slightly to turn her head, but she forgot all about the slight pain when Tom's hands brushed against the sides of her head, sweeping aside a few curls that had drifted over her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed next to her, a poured cup of tea and an accompanying tea service sitting on a table by her bed.

Neither of them spoke; Hermione was still trying to figure out what had happened. She had assumed she was dreaming; but had she ever had such a vivid dream?

"You knocked yourself out." Tom was the first to speak. "You tripped over that stupid cat."

Hermione nodded, but even that caused her vision to swim. Tom must have noticed her discomfort, for he immediately moved his hands to cradle her face.

"Crookshanks?"

Tom frowned; he assumed that was the name of the abnormal creature she was so worried about. Really, there were better subjects for her attention—_was the _cat_ the one who carried her up five flights of stairs?_ He scoffed.

"My guards are combing the maze for him as we speak," Tom reassured her.

Hermione still looked anxious. One matter had been plaguing her mind ever since she had dropped into unconsciousness; she assumed she was returning to her own world, but did she really want to? Was the choice even hers to make?

"I thought I was going back."

Tom smiled wryly; he did not ask her '_back to where?_' but he did not need to.

He would never tell her how close she was to the exit. He would never let her leave; hell, he would never even let her back in the maze if he could help it. She belonged to him now, and the sooner she realized that the better off they would all be. Who was a king without a queen to rule by his side?

"I wouldn't let you," he told her facetiously. "You will not be able to leave me quite so easily."

For some reason, Hermione felt warm at his protectiveness. He would probably never let her leave, but did she even want to?

She saw her answer in his eyes. _No, of course not_.

She was stuck with him. She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She noticed the triumphant glint in Tom's eyes, letting the darkness creep back into her vision almost rebelliously as she once again surrendered to unconsciousness.

_Try to follow me here_…she could barely finish the thought before she had completely passed out again. She supposed he would just have to get used to her subjective consciousness, just like she would have to get used to seeing his face each time she woke up.

**End.**

* * *

A/N: Ha, how was that for some uber-convenient time-travel? xD _Alice in Wonderland_ is legit magical realism, but it is mainly seen in modern Latin American writers like Marquez and Esquivel. _Highly_ recommended, there's some really great literature out there.

_Next_ up is the highly anticipated second installment of _The Cliché Way_, and following that is a drabble collection.

Reviews make the author happy! And a happy author equals faster updates!

~Kako


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